five minutes to eleven
There 's a missin ' o ' somethin' somewheres ! '' His meditations were put to an end by the continuous arrival of all the villagers coming to church ; -- by twos and threes , and then by half dozens and dozens , they filed in through the churchyard , exchanging brief neighbourly greetings with one another as they passed quietly into the sacred edifice , where the soft strains of the organ now began to mingle with the outside chiming of the bells . Bainton still lingered near the porch , moved by a pardonable curiosity . He was anxious to see the first glimpse of the people who were staying at the Manor , but as yet there was no sign of any one of them , though the time wanted only five minutes to eleven . The familiar click of the latch of the gate which divided the church precincts from the rectory garden , made him turn his head in that direction , to watch his master approaching the scene of his morning 's ministrations . The Reverend John walked slowly , with uplifted head and tranquil demeanour , and , as he turned aside up the narrow path which led to the vestry at the back of the church the faithful ` Tummas ' felt a sudden pang . ` Passon ' looked too good for this world , he thought , -- his dignity of movement , his serene and steadfast eyes , his fine , thoughtful , though somewhat pale countenance , were all expressive of that repose and integrity of soul which lifts a man above the common level , and unconsciously to himself , wins for him the silent honour and respect of all his fellows .