The afternoon was sure to stretch into another sleepless night. If only to prove to himself that he'd made some effort to change it, Malachi stepped quietly out of the church, with the intention to at least appear for a meal for Mrs. Higgins' sake. If he were an argumentative man, he might have argued that he ate plenty enough to sustain himself without needing as much food as she provided -- but it was truer still that he wouldn't suffer from a bit more weight on him.

It was by chance that his gaze, in its leisurely sweep of the darkening sky, caught the kneeling silhouette of the graveyard's visitor. The sight stopped him in his path, footsteps cut short beyond the other side of the fence. For a moment he simply stood there, peering down, listening to her quiet cries. Not everyone wished for company in their grief, after all, even (or sometimes especially) when it came in the form of a priest.

Without having entirely made up his mind, Malachi turned back towards the church and disappeared with a swish of black cloth. A few short minutes later, he emerged again with what appeared to be a blanket of some sort on his arm, colored plainly, and slipped through the graveyard's gate.

Malachi made an effort to walk over stones where his steps might be heard, so as not to startle the woman in his approach. Once he'd made it nearer to the grave, he leaned down just enough to hold the blanket out to her. Just in case she caught a chill, or wished to lay it beneath her so that her clothes might not be dirtied as she sat.

Low voice made soft against the silence of the graveyard, he spoke.

"Are you alright?"