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diff --git a/40545.txt b/40545.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7b5c7d1..0000000 --- a/40545.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7392 +0,0 @@ - THE SPLENDID FAIRING - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: The Splendid Fairing - -Author: Constance Holme - -Release Date: August 20, 2012 [EBook #40545] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID FAIRING *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - -[Illustration: THE MESSENGER FROM THE DEEP. _J. D. Wilson_] - - - - - THE SPLENDID - FAIRING - - - BY - - CONSTANCE HOLME - - - - "All night long the water is crying to me." - - - - MILLS & BOON, LIMITED - 49 RUPERT STREET - LONDON, W.1 - - - - - _Published 1919_ - - - - - TO - MABEL AND JIMMY - - Boscombe, March 28th--April 5th, 1919 - - - - - CONTENTS - - -SIMON AND SARAH - -ELIZA - -MAY - -GEORDIE-AN'-JIM - - - - - PART I - - SIMON AND SARAH - - - - I - - -Perhaps it would never have happened but for the day. A brave, buoyant -day, with a racing wind, might have scattered the clinging obsession -just in time. A tender, laughing day might have laid a healing finger -on old sores. A clean, frosty day might have braced the naturally sane -old mind. But Fate, out of all the days in the year, took upon itself -to send just this. - -The human soul, which seems so utterly out of reach, is only shut away -from every other soul. In every other respect it is like a harp hung on -a tree. Even the actual day as it comes is itself a lever in many a -fate. Deeds are done on certain days which on others would be mere -passing impulses easily dead before the night. This blind Martinmas Day -went all day long with its head among the clouds, as if it thought that -never again would there be any sun. Indeed, it was out of the lack of -every sort of sight that the evil grew; since, otherwise--"Mothers -couldn't have done those things," as Geordie would have said. - -All day the earth retained that stillness which it keeps as a rule only -for the last hour before the dawn. Everywhere in the morning there was -mist,--that strange, wandering, thinking mist that seems to have nothing -to do with either earth or air; and when the slow dark drew back there -would be mist everywhere again. Between those shadowy tide-marks of the -air there was a space when the white mist shredded above the trees, -leaving the atmosphere with the look of a glass that has been breathed -upon and never clears. - -The Simon Thornthwaites were going to market simply because they did not -know how to stay away. They went as naturally as the sun comes out of -the east, but with a good deal less of decision about the journey. They -looked dull and tired, too, less indeed as if they were setting out than -as if they were wearily trundling home again. Both horse and trap -looked as though they might fall to pieces after an extra jolt, and the -jumble of harness was mended here and there with string. There was -neither butter nor fowl in the market-basket behind; there was not even -a limp rabbit dangling over the wheel. But all the time they were part -of a chain which gave them a motive and impulse not their own, since -others, more sure of their errand, were taking the same road. Sometimes -a horseman on a young Shire went past with a flash of feather and a -clumping of hoofs. Livelier traps spun by at a trot and gave them a -hail. Behind and before them they had an occasional glimpse of the -procession stretching to the town. - -They had climbed from the marsh, leaving it dropped like a colourless -cloth beside the sea, and already they seemed to have been a long time -on the road. They had not slept much, and, waking, had had the cheated -feeling, common to the weary, that the foregoing day had never really -ended nor the incoming morning ever quite begun. Indeed, the strange, -dreamlike day had never really seemed to come awake. Looking back and -west, they saw everything grey, with just a lightened shadow marking the -far sea, and the marsh lying down on its face like a figure flung down -to die. Houses sat low to the earth as if they crouched, and the trees -were vague, bodiless wisps, without backbone or sap. When they had -their first glimpse of Witham, they saw the town on the fell-side like a -fortress through smoked glass, and the Castle alone on its hill was of -shadow-stones poised on a poised cloud. - -The Simon Thornthwaites were old now, and under-dogs in the tussle of -life, but they had once been as strong and confident as most. Sometimes -they had a vision of their former selves, and wondered how this could -ever have been that. The old man was thin and bent, the sort that shows -the flame through the lantern long before the end, but the woman was -stronger-boned, squarer, and still straight. Most of her life she had -worked like a horse, but she was still straight. Her face was mask-like -and her mouth close. Only her hands betrayed her at times,--old, -over-done hands that would not always be still. Her eyes seemed to look -straight before her at something only she could see,--staring and -staring at the image which she had set up. - -They farmed Sandholes down on the marsh, a lonely bit of a spot that -looked as if it had been left there for a winter's tide to take away. It -had always had an unlucky name, and, like many unlucky people and -things, seemed to have the trick of attracting to itself those who were -equally ill-starred. Certainly, Sandholes and the Thornthwaites between -them had achieved amazing things in the way of ill-luck. No doubt both -farm and folk would have done better apart, but then they had never -succeeded in getting apart. It was just as if Fate had thrown and kept -them together in order to do each other down. Luck to luck--there -seemed nothing else to be said about the Thornthwaites' plight. They -even carried the stamp of each other plain to be seen. You had only to -look at the farm to know how its tenants looked; you had only to see the -folk to know what their home was like. Perhaps it was just that the -double weight of misfortune was too big a thing to lift. Perhaps the -canker at the heart of it all would allow nothing to prosper and grow -sweet. - -They had an easy landlord, easy and rich; too easy and rich, perhaps, -for the Thornthwaites' good. That farm had money--landlord's and -tenant's--spent on it above its due; yes, and a certain amount of -borrowed brass as well. It had work put into it, thought and courage -sufficient to run a colony, and good-will enough to build a church. And -all that it did in return was to go back and back and be a deadhead and -a chapter of accidents and an everlasting disappointment and surprise. -It was a standing contradiction of the saying--"Be honest with the land, -and it will be honest with you." Everything went wrong with that farm -that could go wrong, as well as other things that couldn't by any chance -have gone anything but right. Most people would have thrown a stone at -it at an early stage, but it was part of the Thornthwaite doom that they -could not tear themselves away. Even when there seemed no longer a -reason for staying, still they stayed. The one streak of sentiment in -them that survived the dismal years held them there captive by its -silken string. - -But to-day, as they jogged and jolted endlessly towards Witham, the -whole, drear, long business came to an end. No matter what they had -thought of the probable future to themselves, they had hitherto shut -their mouths obstinately and clung close. They had never even said to -each other that some day they would have to quit. They had put it off -so long that it seemed the least little push would always put it further -still. But to-day the matter suddenly settled itself for good; almost, -it seemed, between one telegraph-post and the next. - -Martinmas hirings would be in full swing when they got in, but there was -no need now for Simon to enter the ring. Their hired man had seen them -through the busiest time, but they could manage without him through the -winter months. Their hired men had never stayed very long, because the -depression of the place seemed to get into their bones. They tired of -crops which seemed to make a point of 'finger and toe,' and of waiting -through dismal weeks to get in the hay. Now the Thornthwaites would -never have the worry of hay-time on their own account again,--never open -the door to catch the scent from their waiting fields,--never watch the -carts coming back on the golden evening to the barn. 'Never again' -would be written over many things after to-day, but perhaps it was there -that they saw it written first. After all this time things had somehow -stopped of themselves, and after all this time there was nothing to do -but go. - -Lads and lasses went by them on cycles, or tugging bundles as they -walked; youth with bright cheeks and strong shoulders and clear eyes, -taking its health and strength to the market to be hired. Some of them -greeted the old folks as they passed, but others did not as much as know -their names. Both Simon and Sarah came of old and respectable stock, -but to the young generation skimming by on wheels these two had been as -good as buried years ago. Sarah's eyes strained themselves after the -lithe bodies of the lads, while Simon looked at the lasses with their -loads. He would have liked to have offered some of them a lift, but he -knew he would catch it from Sarah if he did. Sarah hated the younger -end of folk, she always said, and the fly-away lasses she hated most of -all. She saw them going past her into beautiful life, just as their -swifter wheels went past the trap. Always they were leaving her behind -as it seemed to her that she had always been left. It was true, of -course, that she had had her turn, but now it seemed so far away it -might never have been. All she could see in the background when she -looked behind was the cheerless desert which she had had to cover since. - -They were about half-way to Witham when the moment of spoken decision -caught them unawares. All their stolid resistance and obstinate -clinging to the farm gave in that instant as easily as a pushed door. -It was as if a rock at the mouth of a cave had suddenly proved no more -than a cloud pausing before it in the act of drifting by. The end came -as nearly always after a prolonged fight,--smoothly, painlessly, with a -curious lack of interest or personal will. The burden had been so heavy -that the last straw passed almost unnoticed which brought them finally -to the ground. They had lived so close to the edge for so many years -that the step which carried them over it scarcely jarred. - -They were climbing the long hill that runs from Doestone Hall, the Tudor -house standing close to the cross-roads. By turning their heads they -could see its gabled front with the larches set like lances beside its -door. The river ran swift below the beech-covered slope of the park, -reaching impatiently after the ebbed tide. The house, for all the -weight of its age, looked unsubstantial in the filmy air. Fast as the -river flowed below, from above it looked like a sheeted but still -faintly moving corpse. - -The road was damp and shadowy under the overhanging trees, and padded -with the hoof-welded carpet of the autumn leaves. The fields on either -side were formless and wet, and seemed to stretch away to unknown -lengths. The hedges appeared to wander and wind across the land without -purpose and without end. Under all the hedges and trees there were -leaves, wet splashes of crushed colour on the misted grass. Simon lifted -his whip to point at the hips and haws, and said it would be a hard -winter when it came, but Sarah did not so much as turn her head. - -"I'm bothered a deal wi' my eyes, Simon," she said in a quiet tone. "I -thought I'd best see doctor about 'em to-day." - -He dropped his gaze from the hedges with a startled stare. "Oh, ay? -That's summat fresh, isn't it?" he enquired. "You've never said nowt -about it afore." - -"Nay, what, I thought it was likely just old age. But I've gitten a -deal worse these last few week. I can't shape to do a bit o' sewing or -owt." - -"Ay, well, you'd best see doctor right off," Simon said, and the horse -crawled a little further up the hill. They did not speak again for some -time, but those who live together in a great loneliness grow to speak -together in thought as much as in words. That was why his next speech -seemed to come out placidly enough. "I doubt it's about time for us to -quit." - -"I doubt it is." - -"I never meant to gang till I was carried," Simon said, "and then I -doubt there'd still ha' been some o' me left. But I've seen the end o' -things coming for a while back now. It seems kind o' meant, you being -bothered wi' your eyes an' all." - -"Happen it is," she said again, and sighed. Then she laughed, a slight -laugh, but bitter and grim. "It nobbut wanted that on top o' the rest!" - -Simon threw her an uneasy glance. - -"Nay, now, you mustn't get down about it, missis," he said hastily. "It -waint do to get down. Doctor'll likely see his way to put you right. -But we've had a terble poor time wi' it all," he went on glumly, -forgetting his own advice. "Seems like as if we'd been overlooked by -summat, you and me. 'Tisn't as if we'd made such a bad start at things, -neither. We were both on us strong and willing when we was wed. It's -like as if there'd been a curse o' some sort on the danged spot!" - -"There's been a curse on the lot of us right enough!" Sarah said. "Ay, -and we don't need telling where it come from, neither!" - -Again he looked at her with that uncomfortable air, though he took no -notice of her bitter speech. He knew only too well that haunted corner -of her mind. That sour, irreclaimable pasture had been trodden in every -inch. - -"Ay, well, we're through on t'far side on't now," he said morosely. -"Sandholes can grind the soul out o' some other poor body for the next -forty year! I never hear tell o' such a spot!" he went on crossly, with -that puzzled exasperation which he always showed when discussing the -marsh-farm. "It'd be summat to laugh at if only it didn't make you -dancin' mad! What, it's like as if even slates had gitten a spite agen -sticking to t'roof! We've had t'tide in t'house more nor once, and sure -an' certain it'd be when we'd summat new in the way o' gear. We'd a -fire an' all, you'll think on, and it took us a couple o' year getting -to rights agen. Burned out and drownded out,--why, it's right silly, -that's what it is! As for t'land, what it fair swallers up lime an' -slag and any mak' o' manure, and does as lile or nowt as it can for it -in return. Nigh every crop we've had yet was some sort of a -let-down,--that's if we'd happen luck to get it at all! Kitchen -garden's near as bad; lile or nowt'll come up in't, nobbut you set by it -and hod its hand! Ay, and the stock, now,--if there was sickness about, -sure an' certain it'd fix on us. You'd nobbut just to hear o' tell o' -foot and mouth, or anthrax, or summat o' the sort, an' it'd be showing -at Sandholes inside a week! Same wi' t'folk in t'house as wi' folk in -t'shuppon,--fever, fluenzy, diphthery,--the whole doctor's bag o' -tricks. Nay, there's summat queer about spot, and that's Bible truth! -We should ha' made up our minds to get shot of it long since, and tried -our luck somewheres else." - -"We'd likely just ha' taken our luck along wi' us," Sarah said, "and -there was yon brass we'd sunk in the spot,--ay, and other folks' brass -an' all." (Simon growled "Ay, ay," to this, but in a reproachful tone, -as if he thought it might well have been left unsaid.) "We were set -enough on Sandholes when we was wed, think on; and when Geordie was -running about as a bit of a lad." - -"Ay, and Jim." - -"Nay, then, I want nowt about Jim!" - -"Ay, well, it's a bit since now," Simon said hastily, thinking that it -seemed as long ago as when there was firm land stretching from Ireland -to the marsh. - -"Over forty year." - -"It's a bit since," he said again, just as he said equally of the -Creation of the world, or his own boyhood, or the last time he was at -Witham Show. - -"Surely to goodness we were right enough then? We shouldn't ha' said -thank you for any other spot. Nay, and we wouldn't ha' gone later on, -neither, if we'd gitten chanst. It would never ha' done for Geordie to -come back and find the old folks quit." - -"Nay, nor for Jim----" he began again thoughtlessly, and bit it off. -"Ay, well, I doubt he'll never come back now!" - -"He's likely best where he is." Sarah shut her mouth with a hard snap. -Once again she stared straight in front of her over the horse's head, -staring and staring at the image which she had set up. - -A motor-horn challenged them presently from behind, and Simon pulled -aside without even turning his head. He had never really grown used to -the cars and the stricter rule of the road. He belonged to the days when -the highway to Witham saw a leisurely procession of farmers' -shandrydans, peat-carts, and carriers' carts with curved hoods; with -here and there a country gentleman's pair of steppers flashing their way -through. He never took to the cars with their raucous voices and trains -of dust, their sudden gusts of passage which sent his heart into his -mouth. His slack-reined driving forced him to keep to the crown of the -road, and only an always forthcoming miracle got him out of the way in -time. He used to shrink a little when the cars drew level, and the -occupants turned their curious heads. Somehow the whole occurrence had -the effect of a definite personal attack. Sometimes he thought they -laughed at the jolting trap, the shabby old couple and the harness tied -with string. The rush of the cars seemed to bring a crescendo of -mocking voices and leave a trail of diminishing mirth. But as a matter -of fact he did not often look at them when they looked at him. There -was nothing to link their hurrying world with his. - -This particular car, however, seemed an unusually long time in getting -past. The horn sounded again, and, muttering indignantly, he pulled -still further into the hedge-side. He held his breath for the usual -disturbance and rush, but they did not come. The car kept closely -behind him, but it did not pass. Round each corner, as they reached it, -he lost and then caught again the subdued purring of the engine and the -soft slurring of the wheels. When they met anything, it fell further -back, so that at times he felt sure that it must have stopped. Then he -would draw his breath, and drop into a walk, but almost at once it would -be at his back again. The note of it grew to have a stealthy, stalking -sound, as of something that waited to spring upon its prey. - -The strangeness of this proceeding began suddenly to tell upon Simon's -nerves. Lack of interest had at first prevented him from turning his -head, but now it changed into sheer inability to look behind. Soon he -was in the grip of a panic fear that the car at his back might not be a -real car, after all. He began to think that he had only imagined the -horn, the gentle note of the engine and the soft sound of the wheels. -Perhaps, now that he was old, his ears were playing him false, just as -Sarah's eyes, so it seemed, were suddenly playing her false. Presently -he was sure, if he turned, he would see nothing at all, or that, instead -of nothing at all, he would see a ghost. Something that moved in -another world would be there, with spidery wheels and a body through -which he could see the fields; something that had once belonged to life -and gone out with a crash, or was only just coming into it on the -road.... - -It was quite true that there was something peculiar about the behaviour -of the car. From its number, it must have come from the county next -below, and it was splashed as if it had travelled far and fast. During -the last few miles, however, it had done nothing but crawl. More than -one farmer had heard it behind him and wondered why it took so long to -pass, but it had never dallied and dawdled so long before. Almost at -once it had gathered speed and slithered by, and the man inside had -turned with a friendly hail. He was a stranger, so they said -afterwards, with a puzzled air, but at the time they answered the hail -as if he were one of themselves. - -But Simon, at least, had no intention of hailing anybody just then. -Indeed, he was fast losing both his sense and his self-control. He -slapped the reins on the horse's back, making urgent, uncouth sounds, -and doing his best to yank it into a sharper trot. It plunged forward -with an air of surprise, so that the old folks bumped in their seats, -knocked against each other and were jerked back. Presently it bundled -itself into an aged gallop, while Simon clicked at it through his scanty -teeth. - -"Nay, now, master, what are you at!" Sarah protested, gripping the rail. -"We've no call to hurry ourselves, think on." - -"It's yon danged car!" Simon growled, feeling somehow as though he were -galloping, too. He was quite sure now that a boggle was hot on his -track, and the sweat stood on his brow as he slapped and lashed. Losing -his nerve completely, he got to his feet with a shout, at the same time -waving the car to pass ahead. It obeyed instantly, drawing level in a -breath, and just for a breath slowing again as it reached his side. The -hired driver was wearing a cheerful grin, but the man leaning out of the -back of the car was perfectly grave. He was a big man, tanned, with -steady grey-blue eyes, fixed on the old couple with an earnest gaze. -Simon, however, would not have looked at him for gold, and after its -momentary hesitation, the car shot on. The horse felt its master drop -back again in his seat, and subsided, panting, into its slowest crawl. - -Sarah straightened her bonnet, and tugged at her mantle upon which Simon -had collapsed. "Whatever took you to act like yon?" she asked. "There -was nowt to put you about as I could see." - -"It was yon danged car!" Simon muttered again, but beginning already to -feel rather ashamed. "It give me the jumps, taking so long to get by. -What, I got thinking after a bit it wasn't a motor-car at all! More -like a hearse it seemed, when it ganged past,--a gert, black hearse wi' -nid-noddin' feathers on top...." He let out a great sigh, mopping his -face as if he would never stop. "Danged if yon new strap baint gone and -give out first thing!" - -He climbed down, grumbling at the new strap which had gone back on him -so soon, and began to add a fresh ornamentation to the mended gear. The -horse stood with drooped head, emitting great breaths which shook and -stirred the trap. Simon's hands trembled as he worked at his woolly -knot, his eyes still full of that vision of sweeping plumes. Further -down the road the car had stopped again, but as soon as Simon had -finished, it moved away. It went over the hill as if it indeed had -wings,--feathery, velvet-black and soft on the misty air.... - - - - - II - - -Another thing happened to them on the road to Witham, though it was even -more trivial than the last. The first, perhaps, was meant for -Simon,--that face coming out of the void and trying to look him in the -eyes. The other,--a voice from the void,--was a call to the woman with -the failing sight. But to most people there come these days of slight, -blind, reasonless events. Something that is not so much memory as -re-vision reaches out of the past into the present; faint foretellings -shape themselves out of some far-off hour. And then on the following -morning there is sun, and clear outlines and a blowing sky. The firm -circlet of To-Day is bound again shining and hard about the narrow -earth. - -For a short time they seemed almost alone on the processional road. No -more cars passed them, and only occasionally a bicycle or a trap. Simon -felt more than ever ashamed of himself as his nerve steadied and his -excitement cooled. He had made a bonny fool of himself, he thought, -standing up and shouting as if he was cracked. Witham would snap at the -tale like a meaty bone, and folk would be waiting to twit him when he -got in. It wasn't as if he were in the mood for a joke, either, seeing -how things were; he would find it hard to take it as it was meant. And -there was one person at least to whom the tale would be Balm in Gilead -for many a happy day. He hoped fervently that it might not reach her -ears. - -Sooner or later it would reach her, of course; everything that made mock -of them always did. The most that could be hoped for was that they would -not meet her to-day, backed by her usual sycophantic crowd. Sarah would -never stand any nonsense from her to-day, depressed as she was by the -trouble about her eyes. There would be a scuffle between them, as sure -as eggs were eggs, and just when he wanted things smooth in that -quarter, too. He thought of giving her a hint to be careful, and opened -his mouth, and then decided to keep off the subject, and shut it again. - -Not that they ever _did_ keep off it, as he knew perfectly well. Sooner -or later it was on their lips, and certainly always after a day at -market. They had discussed it so often from every possible point that -they did not always know which it was that spoke. They had long since -forgotten from which of their minds the bitter, perpetual speeches had -first been born. Often they waked in the night to talk of the hated -thing, and slept and wakened only to talk of it again. There was -nothing good that they had which it had not poisoned at the source, and -no sorrow but was made a double sorrow thereby. There was scarcely one -of their memories that did not ache because of that constant sword-point -in its heart. - -It was on market-day each week that their fount of bitterness was -continually refreshed. They kept up the old habit for more reasons than -one, but most of all because of this thing which hurt and cramped their -lives. It was like a vice of some sort which had long become an -imperative need. Each week they came home with the iron fresh sunk in -their souls, and each week they went again to look on the thing that -they both loathed. - -Now they were right away from the marsh and the sands, and would not see -them until they returned, although from the moor and fell-land -surrounding Witham it was always possible to see the bay. Indeed, in -this part of the little county it was hard to get away from the -knowledge of the sea, and even further in, among the shouldering peaks, -you had only to climb awhile to find the water almost within a throw. -On days like this, however, even on the beach it was hard to tell which -was water and which mist, and when at last the tide drew silently from -beneath, those who looked at it from the hills could not tell whether it -went or stayed. - -Simon, looking drearily around, thought that the whole earth had a -drowned appearance to-day. It reminded him of the marsh after it had -been swamped by a flood, and the miserable land emerged soddenly as the -sea drew back. Everything was so still, too, with the stillness of the -dead or drugged. Only the mist moved steadily and of set purpose, -though it was the purpose of a creature with shut eyes walking in its -sleep. - -Out of the low vapour softly roofing the fields a gull came flying -slowly over their heads. First Simon saw the shadow of it huge upon the -mist, and then it came swooping and circling until it hung above the -road. Its long, pointed wings and drooping legs were magnified by the -distorting air, and presently he could see the colour of its bill and -the gleam of its expressionless eye. It moved in that lifeless -atmosphere as a ship that has lost the wind moves still by its gathered -momentum over a deadened sea, but when it came over the road it turned -to follow the trap, instead of making away at an angle towards the west. -Simon concluded that it must have lost its way in the mist, and was -following them as sea-birds follow a boat, but presently he was reminded -of the car in this leisurely gliding on their track. Like the car, too, -it drew level at last, but this time he was not afraid. He looked up at -it, indeed, but without much interest, watching its lone vagrancy with -apathetic eyes. It was silent at first as it circled and swooped, -looping its aimless, unnecessary curves, yet always travelling on. It -might have been a piece of the wandering mist that had taken shape, yet -the sluggish, unbuoyant atmosphere seemed scarcely to have sufficient -strength to carry its weight. So low it flew at last that it almost -brushed their faces and the horse's ears, and in fancy he felt the touch -of it damp and soft against his cheek. And then, as it dropped for the -hundredth time, it suddenly spoke. - -Sarah started violently when the cry broke over her head, the harsh -wailing cry that makes all sands desolate and all moorland lone. She -lifted her face to search the curtained sky as well as she could, but -already the bird had left them and mounted higher, as if called and -turned to another road. Each cry as it came was fainter than the last, -like the speech of a passing soul ever further off. There was about it -something of the majesty and terror of all irrevocable retreats, of -those who go forth unhesitatingly when summoned, never to return. It -left behind it the same impulse to reach out passionate, yearning arms, -to cry aloud for the fainting answer that would still go on long after -the ear had ceased to take it in. - -Sarah sat with her face lifted to the last, trembling and drawing short, -uneven breaths. Simon was silent until she had settled again, and -then--"It was nobbut a gull," he said, at length. - -She gave a deep sigh, and folded her hands tightly before her in their -black cotton gloves. - -"We've plenty on 'em, I'm sure, down on t'marsh.... I'm that used to -them, I never hear their noise." - -She turned her head slightly towards him, as if in a vain attempt to see -his face. - -"Ay, but it was _that like_," she answered in a suppressed tone. "Eh, -man, but it was terble like!" - -He gave a grunt by way of reply, knowing well enough what she meant, but -knowing also that there was nothing to say. It was not true, of course, -that he never heard the gulls. He heard them always, and behind them -the voice that called across the years. But they had long since ceased -to talk about it or to take the voice of the present for the voice of -the past. Sometimes, indeed, when the cry came at the window on a stormy -night, they started and looked at each other, and then looked away. But -it was not often that they were deceived, as Sarah had been to-day. -Even now, he felt sure, she was straining after the voice, that would -never cease crying until it reached the tide. - -They were passed again before they reached the town, but this time it -was by the cheerful rap of hoofs. It caught them as they creaked their -way up the last hill,--the smart going of a good horse that even on the -smothered highway managed to ring sharp. A whip was waved as the -dog-cart dashed by, and the driver turned back to give them a smile. -She was Fleming's motherless daughter from the 'Ship' Inn across the -sands, and Simon and Sarah had known her all her life. All her life she -had lived looking out across the bay, and half her life looking a -thousand miles beyond. - -Simon threw up his hand to her with an answering smile, a sudden -sweetness changing his whole face. Even Sarah relaxed when she knew who -it was, and both of them brightened for a little while. They were fond -of May, a good girl who did not change, and who never made light of -those whom Fate was counting out. She had always had the power to -strengthen their hold on life, to blow their dying courage into a flame. -There was a serene yet pulsing strength about her that had the soothing -stimulus of a summer tide. Sarah had been jealous of her when she was -young, and had fended her off, but May had long since found her patient -way to her heart. Now she stood to both the old people as their one firm -link with the past, and as such she was more precious to them than -rubies and dearer than bright gold. - -"A good lass!" Simon observed, with the smile still present on his lips. - -"Ay." - -"I've always thought a deal o' May." - -"Ay, an' me." - -"Geordie an' all," he added, with a faintly mischievous air. - -Sarah did not speak. - -"An' Jim----" - -"Nay, then, I want nowt about Jim!" - -Simon drew the lash gently along the horse's back. - -"I hear Fleming's been none so well lately," he resumed, as they rumbled -into Witham. "We mun think on to ax. Happen I could slip across to t' -'Ship' after we've gitten back. Tide's about six, isn't it? I could -happen do it." - -"Fleming's nobbut going the same road as t'rest on us," Sarah said. -"He'll be glad to see you, though, like enough. But it'll be dark soon, -think on, wi' all this fog." - -"There's summat queer about t'weather," Simon said broodingly, knitting -his brows. "Tides is fairish big, and yet it's terble whyet. Happen -we'll have a change o' some sort afore so long." - -"I've noticed it's often whyet afore a big change. Seems like as if it -knew what was coming afore it was on t'road." - -"Ay, but it's different, some way.... It's more nor that. There's a -blind look about things, seems to me." - -"Blind weather for blind folk!" Sarah put in with a grim laugh. Simon -grunted a protest but she took no notice. "I never thought as I should -be blind," she went on, almost as if to herself. "I've always been -terble sharp wi' my eyes; likely that's why I've managed to wear 'em -out. And I've always been terble feared o' folk as couldn't see. -There's no telling what blind weather and a blind body's brain may -breed.... Ay, well, likely I'll know a bit more about they sort o' -things now...." - - - - - III - - -All old and historical towns seem older and richer in meaning on some -days than they do on others. But the old and the rich days are also the -most aloof. The towns withdraw, as it were, to ponder on their past. -By some magic of their own they eliminate all the latest features, such -as a library, a garage, or a new town hall, and show you nothing but -winding alleys filled with leaning walls and mossy roofs. The eye finds -for itself with ease things which it has seen for a lifetime and yet -never seen,--carved stone dates, colour-washed houses jutting out over -worn pillars, grey, mullioned houses tucked away between the shops. The -old pigments and figures stand out strangely on the well-known signs, -and the old names of the inns make a new music in the ear. The -mother-church by the river seems bowed to the earth with the weight of -the prayers that cling to her arched roof. The flags in the chancel -seem more fragile than they did last week. The whole spirit of the town -sinks, as the eyelids of the old sink on a twilit afternoon. - -Witham wore this air of detachment when Simon and Sarah came to it -to-day, as if it held itself aloof from one of the busiest spectacles of -the year. The long main street, rising and dipping, but otherwise -running as if on a terrace cut in the side of the hill, was strung from -end to end with the scattered units of the road. The ambling traffic -blocked and dislocated itself with the automatic ease of a body of folk -who are all acquainted with each other's ways. Groups clustered on the -pavements, deep in talk, and overflowed carelessly into the street. -Horses' heads came up over their shoulders and car wheels against their -knees, without disturbing either their conversation or their nerves. -Sheepdogs hung closely at their masters' heels, or slipped with a cocked -eye between the hoofs. The shops were full, but those who wandered -outside to wait could always find a friend to fill their time. Simon's -personal cronies jerked their heads at him as he passed, and the busy -matrons nodded a greeting as they hurried in front of the horse's nose. - -He made as if to draw up at the house of a well-known doctor in the -town, but Sarah stopped him before he reached the kerb. "Nay, nay," she -said nervously, "it'll likely bide. I don't know as I'm that fain to -hear what he's got to say. Anyway, I'd a deal sooner get my marketing -done first." - -So instead of stopping they went straight to the inn where they had put -up on market-day for the last forty years, and where Simon's father had -put up before Simon was born. Turning suddenly across the pavement -through a narrow entry, they plunged sharply downhill into a sloping -yard. The back premises of old houses shut it in on every side, lifting -their top windows for a glimpse of the near moor. The inn itself, small -and dark, with winding staircases and innumerable doors, had also this -sudden vision of a lone, high world against the sky. - -An ancient ostler came to help Simon with the horse, while Sarah waited -on the sloping stones. The steep yard was full of traps, pushed under -sheds or left in the open with their shafts against the ground. -Fleming's dog-cart was there, with its neat body and light wheels; but -May was already gone on her business in the town. Simon had an -affection for a particular spot of his own, and it always put him about -to find it filled. It was taken this morning, he found, though not by -May. May would never have played him a trick like that. It was a car -that was standing smugly in Simon's place, with a doubled-up driver busy -about its wheels. Cars were always intruders in the cobbled old yard, -but it was a personal insult to find one in his 'spot.' He went and -talked to the driver about it in rising tones, and the driver stood on -his head and made biting comments between his feet. A man came to one -of the inn windows while the scene was on, and listened attentively to -the feast of reason and the flow of soul. - -Sarah looked rather white and shaky by the time Simon returned, thinking -of something new to say to the very last. He left the newest and best -unsaid, however, when he saw her face. - -"You'd best set down for a bit," he observed, leading her anxiously -towards the inn. "You're fretting yourself about seeing doctor, that's -what it is. You'd ha' done better to call as we come in." - -But Sarah insisted that she was not troubling about the doctor in the -least. She had been right as a bobbin, she said, and then she had -suddenly come over all queer. "Happen it's standing that long while you -and morter-man sauced each other about car!" she added, with shaky -spirit. "You made a terble song about it, I'm sure. Trap'll do well -enough where it is." - -"I can't abide they morter-folk!" Simon muttered, crestfallen but still -vexed. "But never mind about yon. Gang in and set you down. If I -happen across May, I'll tell her to look you up." - -A door opened at the end of the dark passage, showing a warm parlour -with flowers and crimson blinds. The stout landlady came swimming -towards them, speaking as she swam, so that the vibrations of her -welcoming voice reached them first like oncoming waves. Another door -opened in the wall on the right, and a man looked out from the dim -corner behind. - -"That you, Mrs. Thornthet? What?--not so well? Nay, now, it'll never -do to start market-day feeling badly, I'm sure! Come along in and rest -yourself by t'fire, and a cup of tea'll happen set you right." - -Sarah, shaken and faint, and longing to sit down, yet hesitated as if -afraid to step inside. It seemed to her, as she paused, that there was -some ordeal in front of her which she could not face. Her heart beat -and her throat was dry, and though she longed to go in, she was unable -to stir. The man inside saw her against a background of misty yard, a -white face and homely figure dressed in threadbare black. Once or twice -his gaze left her to dwell on Simon, but it was always to the more -dramatic figure that it returned. There was a current in the passage, -full and sweeping like the wind that went before the still, small Voice -of God. Sarah was caught by it, urged forward, filled with it with each -breath. But even as she lifted her foot she heard a woman's voice in -the room beyond. - -"We've Mrs. Will here an' all," the landlady called, as she swam away. -"She'll see to you if there's anything you want, I'm sure." - -She might just as well have slammed and locked the door in the old -folks' teeth. At once they made a simultaneous movement of recoil, -stiffening themselves as if against attack. The spirit in the passage -died down, leaving it filled to the ceiling with that heavy, chattering -voice. Sarah was well away from the doorstep before she opened her -mouth. - -"Nay, I don't know as I won't go right on, thank ye, Mrs. Bond. I'm -feeling a deal better already,--I am that. If I set down, I'll likely -not feel like getting up again, and I've a deal to see to in t'town." - -Mrs. Bond swam back, concerned and surprised, but Sarah was already well -across the yard. Simon, when appealed to, said nothing but, "Nay, I -reckon she'll do," and seemed equally bent upon getting himself away. -They retreated hurriedly through the arch that led to the street, -leaving Mrs. Bond to say, "Well, I never, now!" to the empty air. The -man's face came back to the window as they went, looking after this -sudden retirement with a troubled frown. - -The driver was still working at his car when he found his passenger -suddenly at his side. He was a queer customer, he thought to himself, -looking up at the moody expression on his handsome face. He had behaved -like a boy on their early morning ride, continually stopping the car, -and then hustling it on again. He had sung and whistled and shouted at -people on the road, laughed without any apparent reason, and dug the -unfortunate driver in the back. He was clean off it, the man thought, -grinning and vexed by turn, and wondering when and where the expedition -would end. People as lively as that at blush of dawn were simply asking -for slaps before the sun was down. He had steadied a trifle when they -reached the Witham road, but the queerest thing of all that he did was -that checking behind the traps. The driver was sure he was cracked by -the time they got to the town, and he was surer than ever when he came -out now and told him to move the car. He might have refused if his fare -had not been so big and broad, and if he had not already shown himself -generous on the road. As it was, he found himself, after a moment of -sulky surprise, helping to push the trap into the disputed place. He -still wore his injured expression when he went back to his job, but it -was wasted on his employer, who never looked his way. Instead, he was -standing and staring at Simon's crazy rig, and he smiled as he stared, -but it was not a happy smile. Presently he, too, made his way to the -arch, and disappeared into the crowded street. - -The old folks had seemed in a terrible hurry to be gone, but, as a -matter of fact, they halted as soon as they got outside. "I couldn't -ha' gone in there whatever," Sarah said, in an apologetic tone, and -Simon nodded, looking anxiously up and down. - -"If I could nobbut catch a sight o' May," he muttered worriedly, -searching the crowd. "May'd see to you right off, and get you a snack o' -summat an' all. I've Mr. Dent to see about chucking t'farm, and I've a -two-three other things to do as well." - -But instead of May, who was nowhere to be seen, a man came shyly towards -them from a neighbouring group. He was like Simon to look at, only -younger and better clad, showing none of the other's signs of trouble -and hard toil. His voice was like Simon's, too, when Simon was at his -best, but Sarah stiffened when she heard him speak. - -"You'll not ha' seen Fleming's lass?" Simon asked, devouring the street, -and Will swung about at once to cast his own glance over the press. - -"She was by a minute since," he said thoughtfully. "She can't ha' gone -far...." He hunted a moment longer, and turned shyly back. "Likely -you'll give us a call at Blindbeck this afternoon?" - -Sarah said nothing in reply to the invitation, but Simon gave a nod. - -"I could do wi' a word wi' you, Will, if you're not throng. It's about -time we were thinking o' making a change. Sarah's bothered wi' her -eyes." - -"Nay, now, that's bad news, to be sure." Will was genuinely concerned. -He glanced at Sarah kindly, though with a diffident air. "Happen a pair -o' glasses'll fix you," he said, in his gentle tones. There was a -pause, and then he jerked his head towards the arch that led to the inn. -"I left my missis behind there, talking to Mrs. Bond. If you're -thinking o' seeing t'doctor, you'd best have a woman to come along." - -"I meant to ax May," Simon said hurriedly, praying for May to spring out -of the ground, and, as if by way of reply, she came out of a shop on the -far side. He plunged forward, waving and calling her name, and she -stopped, smiling, as he caught her by the arm. She was grave at once, -however, when she heard what he had to say, and her eyes rested on Sarah -with a troubled look. She gave a nod of comprehension when he pointed -towards the arch, and, without waiting to hear more, crossed over to -Sarah's side. By the time the stranger appeared the women had vanished -down the street, while the brothers were making their way to the market -square. This was the second time that the Thornthwaites had fled at the -sound of a name, and this time, as it happened, May was sent speeding -away, too. - - - - - IV - - -May, however, was only thinking of how she could be of use, and was very -cheery and pleasant all along the street. Already she had come across -one or two pieces of news, and laughed about them to Sarah until Sarah -was laughing, too. Once or twice they met somebody who had something -else to tell, and they stood on the pavement together and thrashed the -matter out. May's laugh sounded young and gay, and a girlish colour -came into her cheeks. The old figure beside her seemed to draw vitality -from her generous warmth, her brave air which made an adventure of every -commonplace of life. Sarah even rose to a joke or two on her own -account, and was wonderfully heartened when they got to the doctor's -house. She would not hear of having a cup of tea or even a rest. Time -enough for such things, she said with spirit, when they were through. - -She had both of them, however, at the doctor's, because he would not let -her go away without. May took her into the dining-room by his orders, -and found her an easy chair beside the fire. A parlourmaid brought a -tray, and Sarah drank her tea cheerfully enough, soothed by the comfort -and quiet and the presence of some sweet-smelling flower. The doctor -had been kindness itself, and had felt a little depressed when he sent -the women away. He did not know that the last thing that was in their -minds as they sat by the fire was the terrible fact that Sarah was going -blind. - -They spoke of it, indeed, but only casually, as it were, before passing -on to the greater thing at its back. Sarah's sense of courtesy forced -her at least to give the doctor a pat on the head. - -"Ay, he was right kind," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "and I will -say this for him that he seemed to know his job. I've had my doubts for -a while there was summat badly wrong. I don't know as it's news to me, -after all. As for yon operation he says might do summat for me, I doubt -I'm over old. We've no brass for notions o' that sort, neither, come to -that." - -"There's hospitals," May said,--"homes and suchlike where they take you -free. Plenty of folk go to 'em, even at your age, and they'd see to you -well enough, I'm sure." - -"Ay, doctor said that an' all," Sarah assented, though in an -uninterested tone. "But I'd only take badly to they sort o' spots now," -she added, sipping her tea. "I'd be marching out agen, likely, as soon -as ever I'd set my foot inside of the door." - -"They say folks settle wonderfully when they've made up their minds. -It's worth a bit of trouble, if they put you right." - -"Happen," Sarah said casually, and withdrew it at once. "I don't know -as it is." - -"You're down, that's what it is. You'll feel better after a bit." - -"I don't know as I shall." - -"You'll feel different about it in a day or two. You'd come through it -right as a bobbin. You've pluck enough for ten." - -"Ay, well, I can't settle it one way or t'other," Sarah said stubbornly, -turning a deaf ear. "Things is a bit ham-sam just now," she added -evasively, fiddling with her cup, and wondering why she could not bring -herself to announce that they were leaving the farm. But as long as -they did not speak of it, it was just as if nothing had happened, as -though the words which had framed the decision had never been said. And -yet at that very moment Simon was probably telling Will and Mr. Dent, -and the news would be racing its way round Witham until it came to -Eliza's ear.... - -"We'll work it some way," May urged, not knowing of the big pause that -had come into Sarah's life. "You may have to get a word put in for you, -but that's easy done. I'll see the Squire and Mrs. Wilson and maybe a -few more, and it'll be all fixed up without you putting yourself about." - -"You're right kind, you are that." - -"It's worth it," May said again. - -"Ay ... I don't know..." Sarah answered her absently, and then sat up -straight. "It'd ha' been worth it once," she broke out suddenly, as if -letting herself go. "There was a time when I'd a deal sooner ha' been -dead than blind, but it don't matter much now. There's not that much -left as I care to look at, I'm sure. It's the eyes make the heart sore -more nor half the time. But I'd ha' felt badly about it if Geordie was -coming back, and I couldn't ha' framed to see his face." - -May said--"It's best not to think of such things," as cheerfully as she -could, but her own face clouded as she spoke, and suddenly she looked -old. Here was the old trouble, if the doctor had known, that was still -big enough to make the new one seem almost small. Blindness was not so -dreadful a thing to these two women, who had both of them lost the light -of their eyes so long before. Long ago they had known what it was to -rise and see no shine in the day, no blue in the sea for May who had -lost her lover, no sun in the sky for Sarah without her child. - -It was twenty years now since Geordie had gone away, clearing out -over-seas as casually as if into the next field. Eliza's eldest from -Blindbeck had gone as well, as like him in face and voice as if hatched -in the same nest. They were too lively, too restless for the calm -machinery of English country life, and when the call came from over the -ocean they had vanished in a night. Canada, which has so many links -with Westmorland now, seemed farther away then than the world beyond the -grave. Death at least left you with bones in a green yard and a stone -with a graven name, but Canada made you childless, and there was no sign -of your grief beneath the church's wall. Geordie had written, indeed, -from time to time, but though the letters were light enough on the top, -there was heartache underneath. He was a failure there, they gathered, -after a while, just as they were failures here; as if the curse of the -Sandholes luck had followed even across the sea, Jim was a failure, too, -as far as they knew, though their impression of Jim's doings was always -vague. His very name on the page seemed to have the trick of dissolving -itself in invisible ink, and his own letters were never answered and -barely even read. He had been fond of his aunt, but Sarah had given him -only the scantiest tolerance in return. Sarah, indeed, would not have -cared if Jim had been burning in everlasting fire.... - -"We'd a letter from Geordie a month back," she said suddenly, after the -pause, "begging the loan of a pound o' two to fetch him home." - -May started a little, and the colour came back to her cheek. It was a -long time now since anything fresh about Geordie had come her way. Once -she had been in the habit of going to Sandholes for news, asking for it -by indirect methods of which she was still rather ashamed. Sarah had -been jealous of her in those days and grudged her every word; and since -she had stopped being jealous there had been next to nothing to -grudge..... - -"Ay, he axed for his fare, but we hadn't got it to send. I don't know -as we want him, neither, if he can't shape better than that." - -May felt her heart shake as she leaned forward, clasping her hands. - -"I've a bit put by I could spare," she began, with a thrill in her -voice. "It could go from you, Mrs. Thornthet,--he need never know. -You've only to say the word, and you can have it when you want." - -A twinge of the ancient jealousy caught suddenly at Sarah's heart. With -difficulty she remembered May's kindness and the long bond of the years. - -"I'll not spend any lass's savings on my lad!" she answered roughly, and -then softened again. "Nay, May, my girl, you mean well enough, but it -wain't do. Losh save us! Hasn't he done badly enough by you, as it -is?" she added grimly. "You should ha' been wed this many a long year, -instead o' hanging on for the likes o' him!" - -"I doubt I'd never have married in any case," May said. "I don't know -as I'd ever have made up my mind to leave my dad." - -"You'd ha' wed right enough but for Geordie,--dad or no dad!" Sarah -scoffed. "You're the sort as is meant to be wed, from the start. Nay, -he's spoilt your life, and no doubt about it, but there's no sense in -lossing the can because you've gone and spilt the milk. Say you sent him -the brass, and he come back without a cent, what'd be the end o' the -business then? You'd wed him, I'll be bound,--for pity, if for nowt -else. Your father'll likely leave you a nice bit, and you'd get along -on that, but who's to say how Geordie'd frame after all these years? -Happen he's lost the habit o' work by now, and it'll be a deal more -likely than not if he's taken to drink." - -"Geordie wasn't that sort." May shook her head. "He'll not have taken -to drink, not he!" - -"Folks change out of all knowledge,--ay, and inside as well as out." - -"Not if they're made right," May said stubbornly, "and Geordie was all -right. He was a daft mafflin, I'll give you that, always playing jokes -and the like, but it was just the life in him,--nowt else. He was a -fine lad then, in spite of it all, and I don't mind swearing that he's a -fine man now." - -"Ay," Sarah said slowly, "fine enough, to be sure! A fine lad to leave -his folks for t'far side o' the world wi' never a word! A fine man as -can't look to himself at forty, let alone give his father and mother a -bit o' help! ... Nay, my lass, don't you talk to me!" she finished -brusquely. "We've thought a deal o' Geordie, me and Simon and you, but -I reckon he's nowt to crack on, all the same!" - -"You'd think different when he was back," May pleaded,--"I'm sure you -would. And you needn't fret about me if that's all there is in the -road. I made up my mind long since as I shouldn't wed. But I'd be -rarely glad, all the same, to have had a hand in fetching him home." - -"You're real good, as I said, but it's over late." She paused a moment -and then went on again. "Letter went a couple o' week ago." - -The tears came into May's eyes. - -"You don't mean as you said him no? Eh, Mrs. Thornthet, but I'm sorry -to hear that!" - -"Yon sort o' thing's best answered right off." - -For a moment or two May put her hand to her face. "Eh, but what a -pity!" she murmured, after a while. "What does it matter whose brass -fetches him home?" - -"It matters to me." - -"It matters a deal more that you're breaking your heart----" - -"Nay, then, I'm not! ... Ay, well, then, what if I be?" - -"Let me get the brass right off!" May said, in a coaxing tone. "Let -me,--do now! Send it to him to-day." - -"Nay." - -"You've got it into your head he's different, but I'll swear you're -wrong! Different in looks, maybe, but he'll be none the worse for that. -He always framed to be a fine figure of a man when he was set. You'd be -as throng wi' him as a clockie hen wi' a pot egg." - -Sarah snorted scorn, but her face softened a little. - -"He's forty, but I'll be bound he hasn't changed. I'll be bound he's -nobbut the same merry lad inside." - -"Happen none the better for that." - -"Geordie isn't the sort as grows old--Geordie an' Jim----" - -"Nay, then, I want nowt about Jim!" Sarah flared, and the other -laughed. - -"It's hard to think of 'em apart even now,--they were that like. Why, -I've mixed 'em myself, over and over again, and fine fun it was for -them, to be sure!" - -"_I_ never mixed 'em!" Sarah snapped, with a blind glare. "I never see -a scrap o' likeness myself." - -"Why, the whole countryside couldn't tell 'em apart,--school-folk an' -all! 'Twasn't only their faces was like; 'twas their voices, too." - -"Hold your whisht!" - -"You'll remember yon calls they had, Geordie an' Jim----" - -"Whisht, I tell ye!" There was something scared as well as angry in -Sarah's tone, and May was hushed into silence in spite of herself. "Jim -was sweet on you, too," the old woman went on surlily, after a pause. -"If there wasn't that much to choose between 'em, why didn't you choose -him?" - -"There was all the world to choose between them, when it come to it," -May said smiling, but with tears in her voice. "Once Geordie'd kissed -me, I never mixed 'em up again!" - -The rough colour came suddenly into Sarah's face. She tried to turn it -away, with the pathetic helplessness of the blind who cannot tell what -others may be reading there in spite of their will. May, however, was -looking away from her into the past. - -"Not but what Jim was a rare good sort," she was saying, with the -tenderness of a woman towards a lover who once might have been and just -was not. "Eh, and how fond he was of you, Mrs. Thornthet!" she added, -turning again. "No lad could ha' thought more of his own mother than he -did of you." - -"I wanted nowt wi' his fondness," Sarah said in a hard tone. "And I -want no mewling about him now, as I said afore!" - -"Ay, you told him off terrible, poor lad, but he was that set on you he -didn't mind. He used to fetch you fairings and suchlike, didn't -he,--same as Geordie did? It was never his mother he fetched 'em for; -'twas always you." - -"Eliza never had no need o' fairings, wi' all she had at her back!" -Sarah stood up sharply and began to grope about for her mantle and -gloves. "You're bringing things back just to coax me about yon brass!" -she added, as May came forward to help.... "Your father's none so well, -I'm sorry to hear?" - -"He hasn't been himself for a while now, and he's getting worse. I -doubt he's going down the hill sharp-like, poor old chap!" - -"Ay, well, our time comes to us all, and we wouldn't wish for owt else. -But it'll be rare an' lonely for you wi'out him, all the same." - -"I'm used to being alone, though I can't say it's very grand.... You'll -have to let me come and see to you and Mr. Thornthet," she added, with a -cheerful laugh. - -"We're over old for the likes o' you. You want friends of your own age -to keep you lively-like." - -"I'm not so young myself, if it comes to that," May said. "And I don't -know as I ever had a real friend, barring Geordie-an'-Jim." - -"That's enough o' the two on 'em!" Sarah snarled, as they went out. -"Geordie's been a bonny friend to you, anyway,--he has that! We'd best -be getting about our business. Talking o' things as is dead and gone -won't make us any more lish." - -"Simon'll be bothered about my eyes," she said presently, as they turned -towards the shops. "It's a deal worse having to tell him than to put up -wi' it myself." - -"Happen you'd like me to tell him for you?" May suggested, but Sarah -shook her head. - -"Nay, you'd do it right enough, I'm sure," she said kindly, "but it'd -come best from me. You've enough o' your own to fash you, wi'out that. -Married folk mun do their own telling over things like yon...." - - - - - V - - -But though Sarah had held to the telling of Simon, she seemed in no -hurry to break the dismal news. All morning she clung to May, as if -they drew together as a matter of course, and May was glad to have her, -not only because she was old and needed help, but because of the tie -between them which had never been loosed. It was true that they had seen -little of each other of late years, but it had only needed the talk in -the doctor's house to draw them together again. The dwelling upon a -lost hope may sometimes make the impossible possible and the dead live, -if only for a space. The two of them had recreated Geordie in the quiet -room, so that his mother had seen him plain before her darkened eyes, -and his sweetheart had felt his kisses on her lips. - -So all morning they stayed together, even though they did not speak of -him again, because while they were together the glamour persisted and -the dream remained. Just as one name had robbed them that day, though -they did not know it, so another name sweetened everything for them, and -for a little space made them rich. Things might so easily have been as -they wished that it seemed as if even now just a little determination -might twist them into shape. In the ordinary course of events, and with -ever such an ordinary share of luck, Geordie and May should have been -married long ago, with a home of their own to offer the old folk at the -last. Even now, so it seemed, Geordie might be somewhere in the street, -in the midst of that crowd of healthy youth, sturdy manhood and wiry -age. Instinctively, as they came out of each shop, they looked to find -him the centre of some chaffing group, the laughing, handsome, witty -centre, as he had always been. He would break away when he saw them to -ask his old mother how she did, and suddenly the greatest and best of -all happenings would have happened, and they would have heard the -miracle of his speech.... - -This was the spell they wove for each other, making the day brighter and -the world kinder, and helping them to laugh at things which otherwise -would have been too light to stir their hearts. Sarah's shopping was -dull and soon finished, but May had an exciting list, and seemed -constantly in need of help. The old woman actually enjoyed herself as -she peered at stockings and linen buttons, and nipped longcloth and -serge between her finger and thumb. It might have been wedding-gear -they were after, she told May, with a grim chuckle, and May laughed and -sighed, thinking of a bottom drawer at home that had been locked for -many years. The salesman laughed, too, and asked Sarah which of them it -was that was thinking of getting wed, and Sarah, with all her arduous -married life behind her, was yet as pleased as a young girl. She was a -shrewd marketer, even now, in spite of her sight, especially in the -food-shops, where one nose can often be quite as useful as a pair of -eyes; while, as for pots and pans, she knew them as a hen knows her -chickens and a shepherd his sheep. - -They had many a chat over a counter, making and receiving enquiries -about friends, opening their mouths at any lively piece of news, and -pursing them sympathetically when there was trouble around the door. In -the low shops with the new windows in their old walls and new slates on -their bowed roofs, little, low doorways stooping for their heads, -little, worn doorsteps watching for their feet, they heard many a hint -of the romance of evolving or changing trade, many a precious historic -touch that would never find its way into print. You cannot put your ear -to the past anywhere but in the old places where men are born to their -trades, where they know the customer's pedigree as the customer knows -theirs, and where everybody has time for the human as well as the -commercial exchange. Only there can you learn in the space of an hour -wonderful things about drapery and furniture and hardware and tea, and -feel the glamour of the whole budding and fruit-bearing earth come into -the florist's, and the atmosphere of old posting-inns into the pot-shop -with the clink of glass. And no man who is born to his trade is ever a -cobbler who may not look beyond his last. The potman will tell you -where to order a stylish suit of clothes, and the florist instruct you -how to smoke a ham. And every one of them will tell you, with or -without their knowing it, what they have learned of human nature and the -hope of eternity in their quiet little town, and with what eyes they -have looked abroad upon the world. - -All that morning the tides of life swept against Sarah and her friend as -they went about the streets,--tides of humanity and sympathy, memory and -custom,--all the currents that move in the air and the blood and the -brain when a hand is shaken or a friendly voice is heard. It was life -at its fullest as it is known to the northern farmer and his kind, the -public recognition in a given place of the great and intimate system of -which he is a part. The dumb beasts had their place in it, -too,--perhaps the chief place,--and though only the wise dogs and the -cobby, half-clipped horses were there in the flesh, the all-absorbing -stock was never absent from the mind. Into every conversation before so -long some grand bull-calf or pedigree shearling was sure to push its -way. Moving among the warm human tides was like moving in a flood, -while, overhead, low almost as the roofs, the mist drifted and the sky -drooped. Seven miles away, the sands lay bare as a hand, as if never in -any aeon of time would the sea return. - -Sarah and May had their dinner together in a cafe overlooking one of the -steep streets, and, choosing a table by one of the windows, so that they -could look out, spread their parcels about them, and discussed their -bargains and their mistakes. They were still happy, as happiness went -for them in those days, because of the miracle that seemed always -possible down in the street. Folks in plenty were coming and going on -the narrow stair, and as each head rose above the floor of the room in -which they sat, they felt a thrill of anticipation that was yet too -slight to bring disappointment in its train. May, perhaps, was slightly -puzzled by the persistence of the feeling in the air, but Sarah was well -used, like all who are old, to the strange reality of these glamour-days -that are fashioned from the past. - -They had their heads together over a new-fangled floor-cloth when the -ubiquitous stranger came quietly up the stairs; and they were so -absorbed, and Sarah was so exuberant in her wrath, that he had time to -look about him before the final word was said. There was no room for -him, he saw, except at the table where they sat, and presently, though -rather uncertainly, he advanced a foot. If they had looked at him, he -would have gone forward at once, but when they lifted their eyes it was -only to turn them towards the window and the street. The little action -seemed somehow to shut him out, and, drawing back almost guiltily, he -found a seat for himself in the adjoining room. May looked round as he -did so, just as though somebody had called, and stared intently at the -place where he had been. - -He could still see them, however, from where he sat, and he noticed many -things about them as he watched. He noticed, for instance, how strong -and capable May looked, like a woman who had long since taken her life -in her hands and ruled it well. He noticed her good clothes and Sarah's -shabby ones, and that the multitudinous parcels were most of them May's. -He noticed the shake which Time, in spite of her, had put into Sarah's -hands, and was puzzled by the groping manner in which she used her fork. -He noticed that the two of them ate little and that without much heart, -and that always they turned their faces towards the street. And finally -he noticed how Sarah, in the midst of her talk, went suddenly rigid as a -woman came into the room. - -She was a big woman over sixty years of age, with smooth, high-coloured -cheeks and thick dark hair that was still a long way from turning white. -Her face said plainly that she had had a full, comfortable, healthy -life, with plenty to interest her and little to fret. Her brown eyes, -which had been beautiful in youth, had kept their expression of -self-satisfaction wholly undisturbed. She looked, indeed, what she was, -the mother of a big family, the mistress of a good-class farm, and the -wife of a man whose banking-account had long since ceased to keep him -awake at nights. She wore a black hat and a black plush coat, and round -her shoulders was a big fur wrap. In a kid-gloved hand she carried a -muff and a silver-mounted bag, and May, looking down, saw patent-toed -boots showing beneath her neat, black skirt. Sarah was sure of them, -too, though she could not see them. It was not with her physical eye -that she looked at Eliza of Blindbeck, Simon's brother's wife. - -She, too, had paused in the doorway, looking for a place, but as soon as -she saw the two in the window, she advanced at once. As she passed she -spoke to several people in a noisy, hearty voice, that seemed to have a -blustering quality somewhere at its back. By the time she had reached -Sarah's table and come to a stop, the man in the other room noticed that -Sarah had suddenly grown small.... - -"Eh, now, if I haven't been seeking you all over the shop!" Eliza -exclaimed. "Will had it you wanted me most particular, so I've been -looking out. I couldn't find you, though, whatever I did. I never see -folks so set on keeping out of the road!" - -Sarah still continued to look as though she had shrunk. Even her voice -seemed to have grown less. It sounded far off and rather prim. - -"Nay, I don't know as I did, thank ye," was all she said. "Will mun ha' -gitten hold o' the wrong end o' the stick." - -Eliza looked at her with the little smile which the sight of Sarah -always brought to her lips. She pulled a chair towards her and collapsed -into it without waiting to be asked. - -"Ay, well, that's queer, to be sure! Will's no more muddled than most -on market-day, as a rule. I made sure you were wanting me right off the -reel, from what he said." - -May explained nervously that she had come to Sarah's assistance instead. -Eliza always made her nervous, because she never seemed to know she was -in the room. "There wasn't that much to do," she finished hurriedly, -stumbling over her words. "It's a pity Mr. Thornthwaite set you looking -her up." - -"Nay, I don't know.... I'd have been glad to do anything, I'm sure!" -Eliza spoke in her heartiest tones, so that everybody could hear. -"Nobody can say I'm one as can't be bothered to lend a hand. I reckon -me and Will have done as much in that line as most." She looked at -Sarah again, the smile growing on her lips.... "You'll not mind me -sitting down with you, I suppose?" - -"We're through, thank ye. We're just off." Sarah pushed her plate from -her, and began to fumble shakily for the thread gloves. May looked -across at her with a troubled glance, and gathered the parcels together, -ready to move. Eliza, however, had no intention of allowing them to -escape so soon. - -"You're surely not thinking o' stirring yet!" she exclaimed, in a hurt -tone. "What, we've barely as much as passed the time o' day! You'll not -grudge me a word or two after all my trouble, and me that throng wi' -shopping I didn't know where to turn. Will was as full of nods and -becks as a row o' poppies in a wind, and I've been fair aching ever -since to know what he could be at." - -She turned in her seat to call a waitress, and ordered a substantial -meal; after which, throwing back her fur, she leaned her arms on the -table, and resumed her smile. Everybody in the place knew what Eliza -Thornthwaite was having for her dinner, and here and there they were -saying to each other, "They do themselves rarely at Blindbeck.... -There's a deal o' brass to Blindbeck ... ay, Blindbeck's plenty o' -brass!" Eliza knew what they were saying, of course, and felt -unctuously pleased; but May's heart swelled as she looked at Sarah's -scanty, unfinished repast and the thin thread gloves that she was -smoothing over her wrists. Eliza had taken off her own gloves by now, -showing thick fingers and short nails. They were trapped in the alcove -as long as she sat at the table-end, because of her big, overflowing -figure which shut the two of them in. They would have to push their way -past her if they wanted to get out, and Sarah would never as much as -touch her with the end of a ten-foot pole. - -"I'd ha' done what I could, I'm sure," Eliza was busy telling them -again. "I'd never say no to folks as can't help themselves. But -there,--I needn't ha' bothered about it,--you're as right as rain. Will -had it you were off to t'doctor's, but I made sure he was wrong. I -haven't seen you looking so well for a month o' Sundays, and that's the -truth." - -She raised herself as the waitress set a steaming plate in front of her, -and stared at it critically. - -"Eh, well, you've not that much to bother you, have you?" she added -kindly, setting to work,--"nobbut Simon to see to, and just that bit of -a spot? 'Tisn't the same for you as it is for me, with that great place -of our'n on my hands, and the house fair crowded out." - -Sarah did not speak, but she saw, as she was intended to see, a picture -of the good farm where Mrs. Will reigned supreme, of her sons and -daughters and their friends, and her hired lasses and lads; and after -that another picture of her own empty home, where no youthful steps -sounded along the floors, and no vibrant young voices rang against the -roof. The pictures hurt her, as they were meant to do, as well as the -cheerful comment upon her looks. Eliza always assumed that you were as -strong as a horse, even if you lay on your death-bed at her feet. - -"I never heard tell you were badly," she persisted, fixing her eyes on -Sarah's face, which looked like parchment against the misty pane, "and -surely to goodness I'd be more like to know than Will?" - -"I'll do, thank ye. I'm right enough," Sarah said stiffly, forced into -speech at last; and Eliza laughed victoriously and returned to her food -with zest. - -"You've always been rarely strong, as far as I can think on. I never -heard tell as you ailed anything in your life. You were always a rare -hand wi' a knife and fork an' all!" she finished, laughing again. -"Will's a bonny fool to go scaring folk wi' such-like tales." - -"Yes, but we _did_ go to the doctor's!" May broke out warmly, goaded -into speech. "Mrs. Thornthwaite's bothered with her eyes." - -Mrs. Will lifted her own sharply for a fresh stare at the defenceless -face. - -"Eh, now, you don't say so!" she exclaimed cheerfully, with a quite -uninterested air. "It's bad hearing, is that, but they look right -enough, I'm sure." - -"They're bad, all the same!" May answered indignantly, on the verge of -tears. "Doctor says she ought to have an operation right off." - -There was a little pause after the dread word operation, poignant in -every class, but especially so in this. Even Mrs. Will was shocked -momentarily into quiet. Her fork stayed arrested in mid-air, half-way -to her mouth. - -"Well, I never!" she observed at last, withdrawing her startled gaze. -"Eh, now, I never did!" She set to work again at her food like a -machine that has been stopped for a second by an outside hand. "I don't -hold much by operations myself," she went on presently, growing fluent -again. "I doubt they're never no use. They're luxuries for rich folk, -anyway, seems to me, same as servants and motor-cars and the like. But -you'll likely be asking somebody for a hospital ticket, so as you -needn't pay?" - -"Nay, I think not," Sarah said calmly, though her hands gripped each -other in her threadbare lap. - -"You'll never go wasting your own brass on a job like yon!" - -"Nay, nor that, neither." - -"You'll borrow it, likely?" A slyness came into her voice. She peered -at Sarah over her cup. - -"Nay." - -"Ay, well, no matter where it come from, it would nobbut be money thrown -away. You're an old body now, Sarah, and folk don't mend that much when -they get to your age. It's real lucky you've only that small spot, as I -said, and neither chick nor child to fret after you when you've gone." - -Sarah stood up suddenly when she said that, trying to focus her eyes on -Eliza's face. She stood very stiff and straight, as if she were all of -one piece from feet to crown. A sudden notion came to May that, if she -had thrown off the shabby black cloak, a column of fierce flame would -have shot up towards the roof.... - -"I'll be saying good day, Eliza," was all she said, however, and moved, -but stopped because the other's skirts still lay before her feet. Mrs. -Will leaned back in her chair, looking up at her, and smiled. - -"Nay, now, Sarah, what's the sense o' getting mad? I'm real sorry about -your eyes, but you'd ha' done better to tell me right off. As for -saying good day and such-like so mighty grand, you know as well as me -we're looking to see you at Blindbeck this afternoon." She paused a -moment, and then her voice rose on an insolent note. "Ay, and you know -well enough what you're coming for an' all!" - -"Nay, then, I don't." Sarah seemed actually to grow in height. She -looked down at her quietly. "Nay, I don't." - -"That's a lie, if I say it to all Witham!" Eliza cried in furious tones. -Battle was really joined now, and her voice, strident and loud, carried -into and disturbed even the street. Those near turned about openly to -listen, or listened eagerly without turning. The man in the adjoining -room got up and came to the door. May stood poised for flight, looking -from one to the other of the warriors with dismay. - -"You're leaving Sandholes, aren't you?" Eliza asked, exactly as if she -were addressing somebody over the road,--"leaving because you're broke! -You're coming to Blindbeck to beg of Blindbeck, just as you've begged of -us before. Simon told Will, if you want to know, and Will told me, and -every farmer at market'll be taking it home by now...." - -There was a murmur of discomfort and disapproval all over the room, and -then somebody in a corner whispered something and laughed. May roused -herself and pushed her way past Eliza with burning cheeks; but Sarah -stood perfectly still, looking down at the blurred presence sneering -from her chair. - -"Ay, we're quitting right enough," she answered her in a passionless -voice. "We're finished, Simon and me, and there's nowt for it but to -give up. But I've gitten one thing to be thankful for, when -everything's said and done ... I'm that bad wi' my eyes I can't rightly -see your face...." - -The person who had laughed before laughed again, and faint titters broke -out on every side. Sarah, however, did not seem to hear. She lifted a -thread-gloved hand and pointed at Eliza's skirts. "Happen you'll shift -yon gown o' yours, Eliza Thornthet?" she added, coolly. "I've a deal o' -dirt on my shoes as I reckon you won't want." - -The laughter Was unrestrained now, and Eliza flushed angrily as she -dragged her skirts reluctantly out of the way. From the corner of a -raging eye she observed the elaborate care with which Sarah went by. - -"We'll finish our bit of a crack at Blindbeck!" she called after her -with a coarse laugh; but Sarah and May were already on the stairs. The -stranger put out his hand to them as they brushed past, but in their -anger and concentration they did not notice that he was there. Even if -he had spoken to them they would not have heard him, for through the -cloud of hate which Eliza had cast about them the voice of the Trump -itself would never have found a way. He stood aside, therefore, and let -them go, but presently, as if unable to help himself, he followed them -into the street. They were soon cheerful again, he noticed, walking at -their heels, as the charm which they had for each other reasserted its -power. Once, indeed, as they looked in at a window, they even laughed, -and he frowned sharply and felt aggrieved. When they laughed again he -turned on his heel with an angry movement, and flung away down the -nearest street. He could not know that it was only in their memories -they ever really laughed or smiled.... - - - - - VI - - -Simon had been right in thinking that the tale of the car would be all -over the town by the time he arrived. He came across it, indeed, almost -the moment that he got in. The driver of the car had told a farmer or -two in the inn-yard, and the farmer or two had chuckled with glee and -gone out to spread it among the rest. Of course, they took good care -that it lost nothing in the telling, and, moreover, the driver had given -it a good shove-off at the start. He told them that Simon had shaken -his fist and wept aloud, and that Sarah had fainted away and couldn't be -brought round. A later account had it that the chase had lasted fast -and furious for miles, ending with an accident in Witham streets. Simon -encountered the tale in many lengths and shapes, and it was hard to say -whether the flippant or sympathetic folk annoyed him most. He always -started out by refusing to discuss the matter at all, and then wouldn't -stop talking about it once he had begun. - -"Ay, well, ye see, I thought it was a hearse," he always growled, when -forced to admit that part of the tale, at least, was true. "Mebbe I was -half asleep, or thinking o' summat else; or likely I'm just daft, like -other folk not so far." Here he usually threw a glance at the enquiring -friend, who gave a loud guffaw and shifted from foot to foot. "Ay, a -hearse,--yon's what I thought it was, wi' nid-noddin' plumes, and happen -a corp in a coffin fleein' along inside. You've no call to make such a -stir about it as I can see," he wound up helplessly, with a threatening -scowl. "Boggles isn't out o' date yet by a parlish long while, and -there's many a body still wick as can mind seeing Jamie Lowther's -headless Coach and Four!" - -He forgot to feel annoyed, however, when he found that his story had -made him in some sort the hero of the day. He could see folks talking -about him and pointing him out as he went along, and men came up smiling -and wanting a chat who as a rule had no more for him than a casual nod. -Often, indeed, he had only a dreary time, bemoaning his fate with one or -two cronies almost as luckless as himself; listening, perhaps, on the -edge of an interested group, or wandering into some bar for a sup of ale -and a pipe. But to-day he was as busy as an old wife putting the story -to rights, and when he had stopped being angry for having behaved like a -fool, he began to feel rather proud of himself for having done something -rather fine. He ended, indeed, by laughing as heartily as the rest, and -allowed several points to pass which had nothing whatever to do with the -truth. He felt more important than he had done for years, and forgot -for a while the press of his troubles and the fear about Sarah's eyes. -Will told himself that he hadn't seen him so cheerful for long, and -wondered whether things were really as bad at the farm as his brother -had made out. - -They made a curious couple as they went about, because in face and -figure they were so alike, and yet the stamp of their different -circumstances was so plain. They had the same thin face and dreamy -eyes, lean figure and fine bones, but whereas one carried his age well -and his head high, the other had long since bowed himself to the weight -of the years. Will wore a light overcoat of a modern make, brown boots -and a fashionable soft hat; but Simon's ancient suit was of some rough, -hard stuff that had never paid any attention to his frame. Will had a -white collar and neat tie; but Simon had a faded neckcloth with -colourless spots, and he wore dubbined boots that had clogged soles, and -a wideawake that had once been black but now was green. Eliza often -observed in her kindly way that Simon looked old enough to be Will's -father, but indeed it was in the periods to which they seemed to belong -that the difference was most marked. Will had been pushed ahead by -prosperity and a striving brood; while Simon had gone steadily down the -hill where the years redouble the moment you start to run. - -They had encountered the agent early on, and fixed an appointment for -twelve o'clock; and afterwards they spent the morning together until -noon struck from the Town Hall. Will had grown rather tired of hearing -the hearse story by then, and felt slightly relieved when the time came -for them to part. "Nay, I'll not come in," he demurred, as Simon urged -him at the door of the 'Rising Sun.' "You'll manage a deal better by -yourself. You needn't fear, though, but what I'll see you through. -We'll settle summat or other at Blindbeck this afternoon." - -But at the very moment he turned away he changed his mind again and -turned back. "I can't rightly make out about yon car," he asked, almost -as if against his will. "What, in the name o' fortune, made you behave -like yon?" - -Simon muttered gloomily that he didn't know, and shuffled his feet -uncomfortably on the step. Now that the shadow of the coming interview -was upon him, he was not so perfectly sure as he had been that the story -was a joke. He remembered his terror when the car was at his back, his -frantic certainty that there were strange things in the air. He took it -amiss, too, both as a personal insult and from superstition, that the -Town Hall chimes should be playing "There is no luck about the house" -just as he stepped inside. - -"It was nobbut a hired car, wasn't it," Will went on,--"wi' two chaps in -it, they said, as come from Liverpool way?" - -"That's what they've tellt me since," Simon agreed, "though I never see -it plain.... Seems as if it might be a warning or summat," he added, -with a shamefaced air. - -"Warning o' what?" Will threw at him with a startled glance. "Nay, now! -Whatever for?" - -"Death, happen," Simon said feebly,--"nay, it's never that! I'm wrong -in my head, I doubt," he added, trying to laugh; "but there's queerish -things, all the same. There's some see coffins at the foot o' their -beds, and you'll think on when last Squire's missis died sudden-like yon -hard winter, she had it she could smell t'wreaths in t'house every day -for a month before." - -"Ay, well, you'd best put it out of your head as sharp as you can," Will -soothed him, moving away. "You're bothering overmuch about the farm, -that's what it is. A nip o' frost in the air'll likely set you right. -Weather's enough to make anybody dowly, it's that soft." - -"Ay, it's soft," Simon agreed, lifting his eyes to look at the sky, and -wondering suddenly how long it had taken the gull to get itself out to -sea. His brother nodded and went away, and he drifted unwillingly into -the inn. The chimes had finished their ill-omened song, but the echo of -it still seemed to linger on the air. They told him inside that Mr. -Dent was engaged, so he went into the bar to wait, seating himself where -he could see the stairs. The landlord tried to coax him to talk, but he -was too melancholy to respond, and could only sit waiting for the door -to open and summon him overhead. He was able to think, now that he was -away from the crowd and the chaff about the hearse, but no amount of -thinking could find him a way out. He had already given the agent a hint -of his business, and would only have to confirm it when he got upstairs, -but it seemed to him at the moment as if the final words would never be -said. After a while, indeed, he began to think that he would sneak away -quietly and let the appointment go. He would say no more about the -notice to Mr. Dent, and things might take their way for another year. -It was just possible, with the promised help from Will, that they might -manage to scrape along for another year.... - -He left it there at last and got to his feet, but even as he did so he -remembered Sarah's eyes. He wondered what the doctor had said and wished -he knew, because, of course, there would be no question of staying if -the report were bad. He was still standing, hesitating, and wondering -what he should do, when the door of the Stewards' Room opened above, and -a man came out. - -It was, as somehow might have been expected, the stranger of the car, -otherwise Simon's now celebrated 'hearse.' Simon, however, had not -looked at him then, and he barely glanced at him now. It was a blind -day, as Sarah had said, and all through the Thornthwaites seemed -determined to be as blind as the day. The agent followed him out, -looking cheerful and amused. "I wish you luck all round!" Simon heard -him say, as he shook the stranger's hand, and thought morosely that it -was easy and cheap to wish folks luck. "This should be the finest day -of your life," he added more gravely, looking over the rail, and the man -going down looked up and said "That's so!" in a fervent tone. The old -farmer waiting in the bar felt a spasm of envy and bitterness at the -quietly triumphant words. "The finest day of your life,"--that was for -the man going down. "The heaviest day of your life,"--that was for the -man going up. With a touch of dreary humour he thought to himself that -it was really he who was going down, if it came to that.... - -With a feeling of something like shame he kept himself out of sight -until the stranger had disappeared, and then experienced a slight shock -when Dent called to him in the same cheery tone. Almost without knowing -it he had looked for the voice to change, and its geniality jarred on -his dismal mood. Somehow it seemed to put him about at the start, and -when Dent laid a hand on his shoulder, saying--"Well, Simon!" with a -smile, it was all he could do not to give him a surly snarl by way of -reply. They went into the old-fashioned room, which smelt of horsehair -and wool mats, and Simon seated himself miserably on the extreme edge of -a chair. Dent went to the window and lifted a finger to somebody in the -street, and then seated himself at the table, and said "Well, Simon!" -and smiled again. He was a strongly built man, with a pleasant face, -which seemed rather more pleasant than need be to his visitor's -jaundiced eye. - -He looked away from it, however, staring at the floor, and after the -first conventional remarks began his tale of woe, that slow trickle of -disaster which always gathered itself into terrible spate. "You'll know -what I'm here for, sir," he concluded, at the end of his first breath, -twisting his hat like a tea-tray in his restless hands. "Things has got -that bad wi' us I doubt we can't go on, and so we've made up our minds -we'd best clear out next year." - -Dent nodded kindly in answer, but with a rather abstracted air. He had -listened patiently enough to the slow tale, but Simon had a feeling that -his tragic recital was not receiving the sympathy it deserved. He began -a fresh relation of the ills which had befallen him at the farm, -intending a grand climax to be capped by Sarah's eyes; but there were so -many dead troubles to dig out of their graves as he went along, that the -last and most vital dropped from the reckoning, after all. - -"Ay, well, you've likely heard all this before," he finished lamely in -the middle of a speech, conscious that he had missed his point, though -without being able to say how. "We've had a bad year this year an' all, -and I can't see as it's any use holding on. Me and my missis fixed it -up as we come in, so if you'll take my notice, sir, we'll go next -spring." - -"Your wife's in town, is she?" Dent asked. For some reason he looked -again at the window from which he had waved. "How does she take the -thought of leaving the farm?" - -"Well, sir, we'll both feel it, after all these years, but I don't know -as it's any use calling out. I put it to her as we'd better quit, and -she agreed to it right off." - -"I wish you'd brought her along," the agent said, still speaking in a -detached tone. There were some notes on the table within reach of his -hand, and he glanced thoughtfully at them as he spoke. - -Simon stiffened a little, and looked surprised. "I'm speaking for both -on us, sir, as I said before." - -"Of course, Simon," Dent said, rousing himself. "I know that. But I'd -have liked a word with her, all the same." His glance went back to the -notes, and he smiled as if at his own thoughts.... "And so you've -really made up your minds that you'd better go?" - -"Haven't I been saying so, sir, all along?" Simon was really injured -now, and his wounded dignity showed in his tone. Mr. Dent was taking -the whole thing far too easily, he thought. First of all, he did not -seem to be listening as much as he might, and then, when the notice was -offered, he actually smiled! Tenants of forty years' standing do not -look to have their departure speeded with smiles. Simon thought it -heartless, to say the least, and only to be excused because Mr. Dent did -not know what they had to face. They had not been very satisfactory -tenants, of course,--even Simon admitted that,--and it was more than -likely that the agent was rather relieved. At least he was saved the -unpleasant task of turning them out, a duty which, as Simon knew, had -seemed imminent more than once. But they were respectable folk of good -stock, and they were not entirely to blame because they were failures, -too. Gravity was their due, anyhow, if not sympathy, but Mr. Dent, on -this solemn occasion, seemed to be failing them in both. - -"Of course you know you're late with your notice?" he observed -presently, looking up. "You ought to have made up your minds a couple of -months ago." - -"Ay, we're late, I know, but we weren't thinking of owt o' the sort -then. I'm sorry if we've put you about, but you'll not have that much -trouble in getting rid of the farm. It's nobbut a small spot, you'll -think on. It'll let right off the reel." - -"It's been going back a long while, though," Dent said thoughtfully, and -then felt penitent as the old man flushed. Just for the moment he had -forgotten that Simon was in the room. - -"Of course I know you've had pretty rough luck," he went on hastily, -trying to cover it up. "Sandholes holds the record for every sort of -mischance. It sounds like one of the old fairy-tales," he added, -laughing,--"curses and all that! ... But I can't help thinking it would -have been better for everybody if there had been a change earlier on." - -"Ay, well, you've gitten your change now, and no mistake about it!" -Simon retorted angrily, deeply hurt. There was something wrong with the -scene, though he could not tell what it was. He only knew that he had -not expected it to go in the very least like this. - -"It should have been made long since if it was to do you any good...." -Dent did not seem to notice that there was anything amiss. He sat, -tapping the table, deep in thought, while Simon seethed.... "Sure you -couldn't put on for another year?" - -This change of front upset his visitor so completely that he dropped his -hat. He sat glaring at Mr. Dent with a dropped mouth. - -"Nay, then, I just couldn't!" he snapped at last, wondering whether he -was on his head or his heels. "Losh save us!" he added angrily, -"haven't I tellt you I meant to gang ever since I come in? It'll take -me all my time to hang on till spring, as it is." - -"You've run it as close as that?" Dent enquired, and Simon gave a grunt. - -"Ay, and I'm not the first as has done it, neither!" - -"Couldn't your Blindbeck brother see to give you a hand? He's done well -for himself, I should say, and his children are getting on." - -"He's given us a hand more than once already, has Will, but there's no -sense in throwing good money after bad. We'll have to quit next year, -if we don't this. Farm's going back, as you say, and I'm over old to -pull it round. I can't keep going for ever, nay, nor my missis, -neither." - -He remembered Sarah's eyes as he spoke, and how they were enough to -clinch the matter in themselves, but he was too offended even to mention -them by now. There was no telling to-day how Mr. Dent would take the -tragic news. He had smiled and looked cheerful over the notice to quit, -but Simon felt he would not be able to bear it if he smiled at Sarah's -eyes. Indeed, it was all he could do to keep a hold on himself, as it -was,--first of all hearing that he ought to have gone long since, and -then being told to stop when he'd settled to clear out! - -The trend of his injured thought must have reached the other at last, -for he roused himself to look at his sulky face. - -"You needn't think I'm trying to shove the place down your throat!" he -said, with a laugh. "But I certainly thought you'd rather be stopping -on!" - -Simon felt a little appeased, though he took care not to show any sign. -He growled miserably that they had never intended to quit except under a -coffin-lid. - -"This is where you want a lad of your own to take hold,--a lad with a -good wife who would be able to see to you both. You've no news, I -suppose, of that son of yours that went overseas?" - -"A word or two, now and then,--nowt more. Nowt as'd set you running -across t'countryside to hear." - -"No chance of getting him home again, is there?" Dent enquired, and -Simon stared at the floor and shook his head. He must have felt a -change in the atmosphere, however, for suddenly he began to repeat what -Sarah had told May, how Geordie had written for money, and there had -been none to send. The words came easily after he had made a start, and -for the time being he forgot his resentment and injured-tenant's pride. - -"I reckon you know, sir, how it all come about. There'll ha' been -plenty o' folk ready to tell you, I'll be bound, and them as knowed -least'll likely ha' tellt you most. We never had but the one lad, Sarah -and me, and, by Gox! but he was a limb! The queer thing was that my -brother Will's eldest should ha' been the very marrow o' mine,--looks, -voice, ways, ay, and character an' all. Will and me were whyet enough -lads, I'm sure; it was terble strange we should breed a pair o' -rattlehorns like yon. You couldn't rightly say there was any harm to -'em, but they were that wick they mun always be making a stir. Being -that like, too, helped 'em rarely when there was chanst o' their getting -catched. Each on 'em had a call for telling when he was about. Jim's -was a heron like, but Geordie's was nobbut a gull----" - -This time it was his own glance that went to the window, as again he -remembered the bird gone out to the waves. When Dent spoke, his mind -came back from its flight with a tiny jerk. - -"Then they made off to Canada, didn't they, the two lads? You told me -something about it when I first came." - -"Ay, they cleared off in a night without a word or owt, and they've -never done no good from then to this. Sarah sticks to it Geordie would -never ha' gone at all if it hadn't been for Jim, and Will's missis -sticks to it t'other way about. I reckon there was nowt to choose -between 'em myself, but my missis never could abide poor Jim. He was -that set on her, though, there was no keeping him off the spot. Right -cruel she was to him sometimes, but she couldn't drive him off. He'd -just make off laughing and whistling, and turn up again next day. Of -course, she was bound to have her knife into him, for his mother's sake. -She and Eliza have always been fit to scratch at each other all their -lives." - -"Long enough to finish any feud, surely, and a bit over? It's a pity -they can't bury the hatchet and make friends." - -"They'll happen make friends when the rabbit makes friends wi' the -ferret," Simon said grimly, "and the blackbird wi' the cat! I don't say -Sarah isn't to blame in some ways, but she's had a deal to put up wi', -all the same. There's summat about Eliza as sets you fair bilin' inside -your bones! It's like as if she'd made up her mind to pipe Sarah's eye -straight from the very start. She never said ay to Will, for one thing, -till Sarah and me had our wedding-day fixed, and then danged if she -didn't make up her mind to get wed that day an' all! She fixed same -church, same parson, same day and same time,--ay, an' there's some folk -say she'd ha' fixed on t'same man if she'd gitten chanst!" He paused -for a moment to chuckle when he had said that, but he was too bitter to -let his vanity dwell on it for long. "She tellt parson it was a double -wedding or summat o' the sort, but she never let wit on't to Sarah and -me until she was fair inside door. Sarah and me walked to kirk arm in -arm, wi' nowt very much by-ordinar' on our backs; but Eliza come -scampering up in a carriage and pair, donned up in a white gown and wi' -a gert, waggling veil. Will was that shammed on it all he couldn't -abide to look me in t'face, but there, I reckon he couldn't help -hisself, poor lad! Sarah was that wild I could feel her fair dodderin' -wi' rage as we stood alongside at chancel-step. She was that mad she -could hardly shape to get her tongue round Weddin'-Service or owt, and -when we was in t'vestry I see her clump both her feet on the tail of -Eliza's gown. She would have it nobody knew she was as much as getting -wed at all,--they were that busy gawping at Eliza and her veil. She was -a fine, strapping lass, Eliza was, and I'd a deal o' work keeping my -eyes off'n her myself! ... ay, and I won't say but what she give me a -sheep's eye or so at the back o' Will as well...." He chuckled again, -and his face became suddenly youthful, with a roguish eye. "But yon was -no way o' starting in friendly, was it, Mr. Dent? - -"Ay, well, things has gone on like that atween 'em more or less ever -since, and I won't say but Sarah's gitten a bit of her own back when -she's gitten chanst. Will having all the luck and such-like hasn't made -things better, neither. Blindbeck's ganged up and Sandholes has ganged -down,--ay, and seems like to hit bottom afore it stops! Will and me -have hung together all along, but the women have always been at each -other's throats. It riled Eliza Jim being always at our spot, and -thinking a deal more o' Sarah than he did of her. Neither on 'em could -break him of it, whatever they said or did. He always stuck to it -Sandholes was his home by rights." - -"Pity the two of them aren't here to help you now," Dent said. "Those -runabout lads often make fine men." - -"Nay, I doubt they've not made much out, anyway round." Simon shook his -head. "Likely they're best where they be," he said, as Sarah had said -on the road in. He sat silent a moment longer for politeness' sake, and -then was stopped again as he rose to go. - -"May I enquire what you intend to do when you leave the farm?" - -The old man's face had brightened as he talked, but now the shadow came -over it again. - -"I can't rightly tell, sir, till I've had a word wi' Will, but anyway -he'll not let us come to want. He's offered us a home at Blindbeck -afore now, but I reckon his missis'd have summat to say to that. Ay, -and mine an' all!" he added, with a fresh attempt at a laugh. "There'd -be lile or nowt done on t'farm, I reckon, if it ever come about. It'd -take the lot on us all our time to keep them two apart!" - -Again, as he finished, he remembered Sarah's eyes, and once again he let -the opportunity pass. He was on his feet now, anxious to get away, and -there seemed little use in prolonging this evil hour. Mr. Dent would -think they were for ever whingeing and whining and like enough calling -out before they were hurt.... He moved hurriedly to the door, conscious -of a sense of relief as well as of loss, and Sarah's eyes missed their -final chance of getting into the talk.... - -"You're likely throng, sir," he finished, "and I'll not keep you." He -put a hand to the latch. "Anyway, you'll kindly take it as we'll quit -next year." - -Dent said--"No, Simon, I shan't do anything of the sort!" and laughed -when the other shot round on him again with open mouth. His expression -was grave, however, as he ended his speech. "I want you to think it -over a bit first." - -Simon felt his head going round for the second time. The red came into -his thin face. - -"I don't rightly know what you're driving at, sir," he said, with a -dignified air. "I reckon I can give in my notice same as anybody else?" - -"Oh, Lord, yes, Simon! Of course." Dent's eyes went back to the notes. -"Yes, of course you can." - -"Ay, well, then?" Simon demanded stiffly. "What's all this stir?" - -"Well, ... it's like this, you see ... you've missed your time. It was -due a couple of months back, as I said before." - -"Ay, but you're not that hard and fast about notice, as a rule! Tom -Robison did t'same thing last year, you'll think on, and you let it -pass. Seems to me you're by way of having a joke wi' me, sir," he -added, in a pitiful tone, "and I don't know as it's kind, seeing how I'm -placed." - -Dent jumped to his feet and came across to lay a hand on his arm. - -"It's only that I've a feeling you'll change your mind, Simon," he said -earnestly, "and you'll be sorry if you've spread it about that you're -going to quit. A week, say,--a week won't make that much difference, -will it? Can't you let it stand over another week?" - -"You said a minute back 'twas a pity we'd stopped so long! I can't make -out what you're at, Mr. Dent,--I'm danged if I can!" - -The agent laughed and left him to stroll back again to the window, where -he stood looking down into the full street. - -"Perhaps we're neither of us as clear in our minds as we might be!" he -observed, with a cryptic smile. "The weather, perhaps; it's only a -dreary day. I'm not one of the folks who like November grey." - -"Tides is big an' all," Simon found himself saying, unable to resist the -lure. "We've had t'watter up agen t'wall every night this week. Last -night I went out for a look afore it was dark, but it was that thick it -was all I could do to tell it was there at all. There was just summat -grey-like lifting under my nose; but, by Gox! it was deep enough for all -it was so whyet!" - -Dent shivered at the drear little picture which the other had conjured -up. - -"I don't know how you sleep," he said, "perched on the edge of things -like that! It would give me fits to have the sea knocking twice a day -at my back door." - -"Ay, it knocks," Simon said slowly, with a thoughtful air. "There's -whiles you'd fair think it was axing for somebody to come out.... You'll -mind yon time you were near catched by the tide?" he went on, after a -pause. "Eh, man, but I was in a terble tew yon night!" - -"It was my own fault," Dent laughed,--"not that it was any the nicer for -that! I knew the time of the tide, but I'd forgotten the time of day. -It was a day something like this, much the same dismal colour all -through. Lord, no!" He shivered again. "I've not forgotten, not I! -I'll never forget pounding away from that horrible wave, and finding -myself, quite without knowing it, back below the farm!" - -"It was my missis saved you that night," Simon said, "and a near shave -it was an' all! Tide would ha' got you even then if it hadn't been for -her. We heard you hollerin' and came out to look, but we couldn't see -nowt, it was that dark. I thought we'd fancied it like, as we didn't -hear no more, but Sarah wouldn't hear of owt o' the sort. She would -have it she could see you liggin' at bottom o' t'bank, and she give me -no peace till I'd crammelled down to look." - -"Well, you may be sure I'm grateful enough," the agent said, as they -shook hands. "I wouldn't wish my worst enemy a death like that. I hope -it's been put to the credit side of her account." - -He followed this caller out as he had done the last, and again, leaning -over the railing, he called "Good luck!" Simon, looking up, full of -resentment, saw the face above him bright with smiles. He went out with -offended dignity written in every line. - - - - - PART II - - ELIZA - - - - I - - -It was two o'clock and after before the old folks left Witham. Simon -had gone to his dinner on quitting the agent, and at his favourite -eating-house he encountered others who wanted the hearse-story at first -hand. He was not at all averse to talking about it by now, and after a -good dinner it improved with the telling every time. Once more he -forgot the interview of the morning as well as the coming one in the -afternoon, and stayed smoking and talking and sunning himself in the -fine atmosphere of success. - -Sarah, however, had neither pipe nor admiring circle to soothe or -enliven the heavy, dragging hours. She went into the inn after the -'Ship' dog-cart had rattled off, and tried to gather a little comfort -from the parlour fire; but the glamour of the morning had departed with -May, and now that she was alone she felt depressed and tired. The -doctor's verdict, which had passed her by at the time, rushed back upon -her, shaking her nerves and chilling her heart. She began to wonder -what it would be like to be really blind, and in a sudden panic she made -a strained attempt to discern the pictures and almanacks in the room, -tracing the patterns of the antimacassars with a shaking finger, and the -shapes of the chair-backs and table-legs. When she was really blind, -Simon would have to do for her instead of her doing for him, but he -would only make a poorish job of it, she felt sure. There would still -be plenty for both of them to do, in spite of the fact that 'things had -come to an end.' There were the long winter months to be got through -before they left, as well as the work and worry of changing house. May -would help her, no doubt; she could always count on May; but she knew -that she did not want to owe her more than she could help. It was -partly a new uprising of dead jealousy, of course, as well as pride -refusing dependence upon one who did not belong. But at the back of all -there was a more just and generous motive than either of these,--the -consciousness that May had given too much already, and should not be -called upon for more. Months ahead though it lay, she began presently to -think a woman's thoughts about the breaking-up of the home. Little as -they possessed of any value in itself, there would be many things, she -knew, that they would want to keep. There were certain things, -expensive to renew, which still had a flicker of useful life, and -others, useless to others as well as themselves, which were yet bone of -their bone and flesh of their ancient flesh. She began to make a list -in her head, and to value the furniture as well as she knew how. She -had been to many a sale in her time, and had a sufficiently good memory -of what the things had fetched, as well as of whose house had eventually -raked them in. She saw Sandholes full of peering and poking folk, a -chattering crowd stretching into the garden and yard, and forming a -black procession along the roads of the marsh. She saw traps and heavy -carts and laden human beings slowly departing with the stuff of her -human life, while the shreds that were left to her, piled and roped on a -waiting lorry, looked poorer than ever in the light of day. She saw the -garden gravel printed by many boots, and the yard trenched and crossed -by wheels. She saw the windows open in a house from which nobody -looked, and scrubbed, bare floors which seemed to have forsworn the -touch of feet. She saw the lorry pass reluctantly away into the great, -homeless place that was the world. And last of all she saw herself and -Simon shutting the door that finally shut them out. There was all the -difference in ten thousand worlds between the sound of a door that was -shutting you in and the sound of the same door shutting you out.... - -She had always been a still woman, when she had had time to be still, -but she found it impossible to be still to-day. She began to walk up -and down, listening for Simon's voice, and in the strange room she hurt -herself against the furniture, and received little shocks from the cold -surface of strange objects and the violent closing-up of the walls. She -gave it up after a while, forcing herself to a stand, and it was so that -Simon found her when he opened the door at last. - -She had a further wait, however, when he found that the trap had managed -to oust the car from the coveted place. At first he was rather afraid -that the hearse-story had earned him too many drinks, but even to -marketing eyes the fact was plain. He chuckled as he walked from one to -the other, saying "Gox!" and "Did ye ever now?" and "Losh save us!" and -"Wha'd ha' thowt it!" The driver was not to be seen, or the wait might -have been longer still, but as it was they were mounted presently on the -emaciated seats, and Simon jerked up the horse in a last spasm of -victorious glee. - -For some miles he talked of nothing but the sensation that he had caused -in Witham, and how he had found the hearse-story everywhere in the town. - -"I'd nobbut to turn a corner," he announced proudly, though pretending -disgust, "but sure an' certain there'd be somebody waiting to tax me on -t'far side! There was Burton, and Wilson, and Danny Allen and a deal -more, all on 'em ready wi'--'Well, Simon, and what about yon hearse?' I -could see 'em oppenin' their mouths half a street off!" he chuckled -loudly. "Folk clipped me by t'arm and begged me tell 'em how it was, -and t'others rushed out o' shops and fair fell on me as I ganged by!" - -"They mun ha' been terble hard set for summat to do," Sarah answered -unkindly. "What did you make out wi' Mr. Dent?" - -At once the shadow fell again on the fine sun of Simon's success. - -"Nay, you may well ax," he growled, "but I'm danged if I rightly know! -He was that queer there was no doing owt wi' him at all. Seemed to be -thinking o' summat else most o' the time,--gaping out at winder and -smiling at nowt. He was a deal queerer nor me, hearse or no hearse, and -so I tell ye!" - -"But you give notice in, didn't you? You likely got that fixed?" - -"Well, I did and I didn't, after a manner o' speaking. I kept handing -it in like, and he kept handing it back. He said we'd best take a bit -more time to think." - -"We've had time and plenty, I'm sure!" Sarah sighed,--"ay, that we have! -... I reckon you tellt him about my eyes?" - -Simon stirred uneasily when she mentioned her eyes, remembering how they -had played in and out of his mind, but never once managed to come to the -front. - -"Nay, then, I didn't, if you want to know, because I never gitten -chanst. I didn't rightly know what to say, neither, come to that. You -catched doctor right enough, I suppose?" - -"Ay, we hadn't to wait or owt. And he was right kind, he was that!" - -"Happen he hadn't a deal to say, after all?" Simon enquired hopefully, -and she gave a faint laugh. - -"Nobbut that if I didn't have an operation right off, I'd be as blind as -a barn-door owl by next year!" - -Simon said "Gox!" and jerked the horse so violently that it nearly went -through the hedge. "Losh, missis, that's bad!" he went on dismally, when -he had straightened out. "It's worse than I looked for, by a deal. -I've always been terble feared of operations and such-like. What's to be -done about it, d'ye think?" - -"Nowt." - -"Nay, but dang it!" he cried sharply,--"we can't leave it like yon! If -there's owt they can do for you, we mun let them try. They say some folk -come out right enough, wi' a bit o' luck." - -"Luck isn't much in our way, I doubt," she said, with a sigh, "and it'd -mean begging o' somebody, I reckon, and I've had enough o' that. May -says there's free spots for such as us, but there's not that much free -in this world as I've ever seen. I doubt it'd mean somebody's brass or -other going to pay for it in the end." - -"I could ax Will----" Simon began hurriedly, without pausing to think, -but she stopped him before the well-known formula was out. - -"Nay, then, master, you'll do nowt o' the sort, so that's all there is -about it! You're his brother, and you've a right to do as you choose, -but I'll never take a penny piece from him if it's nobbut for myself." - -"He'd have his hand in his pocket for you right off. He's never been -close about brass and suchlike, hasn't Will." - -"Ay, but it's Eliza's brass as well, you'll think on, and she's close, -right enough! She'd see me blind and on t'streets afore she'd lift a -hand, and if happen she did lift it, I'd strike it down! Nay, master, -you can ax what you like for yourself, but you'll ax nowt for me. As -for the farm and Mr. Dent, we're bound to get shot of it now, whatever -happens. The sooner things is fixed the better I'll be suited, so I'll -thank you to get 'em seen to as soon as you can." - -"'Tisn't my fault they're not fixed this very minute!" Simon grumbled, -feeling hardly used.... "Did you happen across Eliza in Witham?" he -asked her suddenly, after a while. - -Sarah laughed faintly again, though this time it was an echo of triumph. - -"We'd a few words together in t'caif," she answered tranquilly, "and wi' -a few folks looking on an' all. She was setting it round we were broke, -and had gitten the sack, and a deal more; but I reckon I give her summat -to bite on afore I was through.... Seems as if you an' me had been -having a sort o' side-show," she finished, with a grim smile. "Ay, -well, we've given Witham summat to crack about, if we've never done nowt -else...." - -Their minds had been full of Eliza as they drove to market, and now they -were busy turning her over in their minds again. Sarah's account of her -splendid effort cheered and uplifted them for a while, but they knew -only too well that their sense of superiority would not last. Even -their victories, ever so dearly bought, turned to Eliza's advantage in -the end. Life was on the side of Eliza, for whom all things were certain -to work out well. Heaven was on the side of Eliza, whose face had never -registered a single memory of pain. The Simon Thornthwaites never got -over the feeling that somehow she had played them false, had wheedled by -undue influence the balance of justice off the straight. Alone, they -were able to see some dignity in their tragic lives, but once with Eliza -they were suddenly cheap,--mere poor relations fawning at her skirts. -They saw themselves framed as such in her mocking eyes, and felt for the -moment the shameful thing they seemed. - -She mocked them,--that was the evil thing she did; that petty, insidious -crime which human nature finds so difficult to forgive. Mockery by -comparison was her method, and one which was almost impossible to fight. -In all that Eliza said and did, by her attitude and her dress, she -invited the world to mark the incredible gulf that yawned between the -Simon Thornthwaites and the Wills. She had made her opening point on -the double wedding-day, though the actual cause of the enmity lay -further back than that. Eliza, indeed, had intended to marry Simon and -not Will,--Simon, the elder, the better-looking, and even the smarter in -those far-off days. But in this, at least, Sarah had won the fall, and -Eliza had never recovered from her surprise. From that moment the -spoilt beauty had seen in the other's plain person an opponent worthy of -her steel, an antagonist whom it would take her all her life to down. -Sneer and strike as she might, she could never be quite sure that she -had finally got home, and in mingled inquisitiveness and wrath she -sneered and struck again. There must be an end sometime to this spirit -that would not break, but even after forty years there was little sign. -Something deathless in Sarah rose up again after every stroke, and was -always left standing erect when her world was in the dust. - -Sarah thought of her wedding-day as they drove through the torpid -afternoon, and under the low sky that was shut over the earth like a -parsimonious hand. The wedding-day had been soft and sunny and sweet, -with a high blue sky that looked empty from zone to zone, until, looking -up until you were almost blind, you saw that you stared through layer -upon layer of tender-coloured air. The mountains had been like that, -too, clear yet vapour-veiled, and even the blue of the sea had been just -breathed upon as well. It was a real bridal day, with its hint of -beauty only just withheld, its lovely actual presences that still -dropped curtains between. The earth-veils had had nothing in common with -Eliza's flaunting mockery of a veil, nor was there anything in common -between the mysteries behind. The strong mountain was more subtle and -shy than Eliza, the terrible sea more tender, the great sky with its -hidden storms more delicate and remote. Eliza's bold and confident -beauty had clashed with them as a brass band clashes with a stretching, -moonlit shore. It was for Sarah in her stiff straw bonnet and brown -gown that the bridal veils of the world had been sweetly worn. - -She had thought herself neat and suitable when she looked in the glass, -and had found it enough, because all her instincts were neat and plain. -It was a cruel irony of fate that had forced her into a morbid, -passionate groove. In those days she had never as much as heard of -obsessions of the mind, and would not have believed they could touch -her, if she had. She had asked nothing of life but that it should be -clean and straight, and still found it hard to believe in the shadowed, -twisted thing which it had proved. - -Her parents had died before Simon had made her a home, so she had gone -out to service and had been married from her 'place.' She found him -waiting when she went downstairs, in clothes as neat and suitable as her -own, and he had given her a bunch of lilies of the valley, and a little -Prayer Book with a brown back. They had always been matter-of-fact as -lovers, and they were very matter-of-fact now, but Sarah, from this -far-off distance, knew that, after all, they had not missed the thrill. -Even in the small-windowed, silent house that had a maiden lady for -tenant there was a touch of the exquisite thing,--the same delicate -rapture that was spreading its diaphanous wings over the coloured sea -and land.... - -They walked to church by the path across the fields, and the cattle -raised their heads to look at Simon's suitable clothes, and the inch of -escaped ribbon frisking on Sarah's suitable bonnet. They went -arm-in-arm through the still churchyard, where their forefathers, lying -together, saw nothing strange in this new conjunction of old names; and -arm-in-arm up the empty aisle towards the cave of the chancel that had -the flower of its rose window set in it like a jewelled eye. Their -boots sounded terribly loud on the uncarpeted tiles, and they trod on -tiptoe when they crossed the stones of the vaults, because the names -looking up seemed somehow to turn into the uplifted faces of the -prostrate dead. And presently the stone of the chancel-steps had stopped -them as with a bar, bidding them think, in that last moment, whether the -feet of their purpose had been rightly set. - -They felt very small as they waited among the climbing pillars and under -the spring of the groined roof, smaller and smaller as the unmarked -minutes passed and nobody came. A shaft of light from the clerestory -touched them like the point of a sacrificial knife, showing their faces -humble and patient and a little too anxious to be glad. A bird flashed -in through the open chancel-door, sat for a moment on the altar-rail and -sang, and then caught sight of the sunlit country and flashed out again. -It had not even seen the waiting couple who were so very quiet and so -terribly small. And then, just as they were at their smallest, the -Pageant of Eliza had swept in. - -There were many to tell them afterwards of the sensation in the village -when Eliza in gorgeous apparel had come driving with trampling horses to -the old lych-gate. At the sound of the horses' hoofs and the first -flash of the veil the houses had emptied themselves as a teapot empties -itself when you tilt the spout. Veils were the prerogative of the -'quality' in those days, and that in itself was sufficient to make a -stir. In a moment there were groups on the green, children running up -the street and folk pressing into the churchyard, and in a moment more -the veiled yet flaunting figure had passed into the church, an -over-rigged ship up the straight estuary of the aisle. - -Behind Simon and Sarah the place was suddenly full of noise, whispering -and shuffling and treading of heavy feet, and the ringing of nailed -boots on the smooth tiles. Presently all that had been inside the -church had gone out as if swept by a broom, and all that had been -outside had come in with a blatant rush, filling it with curious faces -and crowded bodies and suppressed laughter and muttered speech. Into -the quiet hour that had been meant for Simon and Sarah alone, Eliza came -full tilt with a tumult of sight-seers in her train. Not for her was -the peace between the springing pillars which rent before her like a -curtain rent by hands. She trod with bold, self-satisfied strides over -the dead faces which to her were only names. She created a vulgar -raree-show out of the simple blessing of a tranquil God. - -Only outside the sea and the mountains kept their mystery till the knot -was tied. The sacred hour of Simon and Sarah was withdrawn silently -into higher courts. - -All that was human in Sarah, however, remained at the mercy of the -broken hour below. Now and then she caught a glimpse of Eliza's face -through the veil, or a gleam of her shining gown as she twisted and -turned. She thought to herself savagely that Eliza looked a fool, but -that did not prevent her from feeling, by contrast, a fool, too. Even -Will, shy and ashamed, but tricked out in unaccustomed gauds, helped to -point the comparison between the pairs. She remembered how her cheeks -had burned and her heart battered and her knees shook, while she -strained her ears for the least sign of mirth from the crowded pews -behind. The whole parody of her precious hour was bitter beyond words, -but it was the mocking distinction in clothes that went furthest home. -For the rest of her life Sarah was sharply conscious of all that Eliza -wore, and hated it right to the sheep that had carried the wool on its -innocent back, and the harmless cotton-plant that had grown for her -unaware. - -Eliza sailed down the aisle again amid giggles and loud asides, but -Simon and Sarah crept quietly out of the church by the door through -which the singing-bird had flown. They stood in the grass among the -rose-bushes on the graves, and watched Eliza drive triumphantly away. -The parson followed them out to make a kindly speech, which they were -far too angry and humiliated to hear. He wanted to tell them that God -had certainly liked them best, but he knew they would not believe him if -he did. They were so certain that it was Eliza who had had the beautiful -hour. They were too simple to know that it was only they who had any of -the beauty to carry home.... - - - - - II - - -All their lives Simon and Sarah had been the victims of Eliza's Method. -Nothing they had, horse, cow or cart, but was sooner or later measured -by Blindbeck standards and condemned. Their furniture figured in -Eliza's talk as often as her own,--their humble horsehair abased by her -proud plush, her stout mahogany lording it over their painted deal. They -had scarcely a cup or plate, hay-crop, dog or friend, but it was flung -in the scale and instantly kicked the beam. People grew tired of -Eliza's Method after a while, but long before they had ceased to enjoy -it its work was done. By that time they knew to the last inch exactly -how the Simon Thornthwaites had fallen behind the Wills. The Simons -were stamped in their eyes as poor relations to the end of time, and -they treated them differently, spoke to them casually, and as often as -not forgot that they were there. But Simon and Sarah did not forget, or -cease to notice, or cease to be hurt. Always they felt pilloried by -Eliza's blatant cry,--"Look here, upon this picture, and on this!" - -Only in one respect had Sandholes and the Simons ever managed to hold -their own. Simon's son had been every whit as fine as Will's, for all -the wooden spoon that was hanging over his cradle. It was true that -more and more children came to Blindbeck, passing Sandholes by, but that -was nothing to Sarah as long as Geordie was at hand. Geordie alone -seemed more than sufficient to right them in the eyes of an -Eliza-magicked world. He was a rattlehorn and a limb, but he had stuff -in him, all the same, and sooner or later he would prove that stuff to -the world and the lordly Wills. All the working and scraping of those -years went to the one passionate purpose of doing Eliza down. Those -were the happiest years of Sarah's life, because for the time being she -had a weapon against her foe. - -Yet even here she found herself mocked by the amazing likeness between -the brothers' sons. It had an uncanny effect upon her, as of something -not quite human, even, indeed, as if there were something evil at its -back. She had an uneasy feeling that, in some mysterious way, this was -still another expression of Eliza's malice. The pride of stock in Simon -and Will was stirred by this double evidence of breed, but Sarah, when -people mistook the lads, was fretted to fierce tears. There were times -when she even hated the smile on Geordie's lips, because of its exact -similitude on Jim's. Most of all she hated herself when the wrong lad -called and she answered before she knew, or waved to a figure over the -sands, and it came laughing and was not her son.... - -She had much the same sense of something not quite canny about Jim's -extraordinary passion for Sandholes and herself. It was almost, indeed, -as if she feared it, as if she knew that in the future it might do her -harm. Even she was not always proof against his laughing, kindly ways, -and nothing but some such fear of a clutching love could have made her -steel her heart. Through all her absorption in her splendid Geordie she -could not help guessing at the greater depths in Jim. Geordie had yet -to learn in exile what Jim had learned on the very threshold of his -home. She remembered nursing him through an illness much against her -will, and even now she could not shed that clinging memory and its -appeal.... - -It was perhaps because of this hidden terror that she never used his -affection for her against his mother. She was often tempted to do so, -for Eliza was sore in spite of her loud denials, and when the Method was -hard at work on the furniture or the crops it would have been pleasant -to give her news--and generally none too pleasing news--of Jim. Often -enough the words were on her tongue, but she never spoke them. Always -something held her back from taking this easy means to strike. - -Her ironic reward, however, was such as might well have made her think -herself bewitched, for even out of her self-denial it was Eliza who -gathered triumph. As time went on, and more and more lads appeared at -Blindbeck, she deftly changed her tactics by a single twist of the -wheel. She handed over to Sandholes, as it were, the one member of the -Blindbeck family that did not come up to Blindbeck standards. Not that -she ever said as much in words, or relinquished any claim that was -likely to be of use. She merely contrived to convey the impression that -he belonged by nature more to the Have-Nots than the Haves, to the -penniless Simons rather than the wealthy Wills. The impression -hardened, however, after the lads had run away, and Jim had finally -nailed his sympathies to the mast. His father, indeed, did not give him -up without a struggle, but Eliza became ever more detached from the -wastrel who was her son. Smilingly, so to speak, she dropped her thumbs -and let him go. It was not long before strangers were thinking him -Simon's son instead of Will's, and presently even Sarah awoke to the -fact that she was saddled with the Blindbeck failure as well as her own. - -It was a smug young cousin of Eliza's who finally opened her eyes, at -one of those family feasts which Simon and Sarah were always expected to -attend. Eliza was never at her brightest and best without them, as she -very rightly said,--the organ-grinder without his necessary monkey, the -circus-master without his jumping clown. As usual, the Simon -Thornthwaites heard their belongings catalogued and found utterly -wanting, and, as usual, for the time being, shared the general sentiment -that they were beneath scorn. The comparisons, passing in and out of -shippon and parlour, leaping from feather-bed to sofa, and over -root-crops and stacks of hay, arrived finally at the missing sons. - -"Our Harry's for learning the violin," Eliza informed the tea-party, -swelling with conscious pride. "Master wouldn't hear tell o' such a -thing at first, but me and the girls talked him round between us. I -reckon he'll be suited all right, though, when he hears our Harry play. -Ah, now, Sarah, but wouldn't that ha' been just the thing for -Geordie-an'-Jim? They were that fond o' music, the poor lads, though -they'd no more tune to the pair on 'em than a steam-whistle. Eh, well, -poor things, fiddle-playing and suchlike wouldn't ha' been no use to 'em -where they're at. Brass wasted, that's what it would ha' been, so it's -just as well...." - -Harry, also swelling with pride, looked for some sign of admiration from -his aunt, but did not get it. Eliza soothed him with a meaning glance. - -"The trouble is you've got to keep your hands terble nice for the -violin. Our Harry's terble set on keeping his hands nice.... -Geordie-an'-Jim would never ha' come to such-like quality ways, would -they, Sarah? I never see such hands as the two on 'em used to show at -meals! I mind you said they got sent home that often from school, at -last the folks took to washing 'em on the spot! I used to be right -sorry for you, Sarah, I was that, wi' their gert finger-marks all over -the walls and the chair-backs. It's queer how different folk shape, I'm -sure, even when they're as you might say near-bred. Our Harry frames -rarely at folding tablecloths and the like, and no more dirt to 'em when -he's finished than if he was a lass!" - -The town-bred cousin gazed complacently at his hands, and observed that, -if Geordie-an'-Jim were in Canada, as he understood, from all accounts -it was much the best place for them. Eliza nodded lugubriously, the tail -of her eye on Sarah's unstirred face. - -"Ay, they're in Canada right enough, and like to be,--aren't they, -Sarah?--for a goodish while yet. They wrote home as they'd sworn to -make their fortunes afore they crossed the pond again, but fortunes -isn't as easy come by as some folk seem to think. Me and Will likely -know as much about it as most, having managed middlin' well, but even -for the best o' folk it isn't as simple as it sounds. There's always -somebody at you one way or another, wanting to share what you've earned -wi' your own hands. You've just got to keep lifting your feet right high -off the ground, or you'll have folk hanging on to your shoe-wangs all -the time. Ay, Geordie-an'-Jim'll find as fortunes don't come that slape -off the reel! 'Tisn't as if it was our Harry and Tom here, ay, and Bill -and Fred an' all, as'll find everything ready for 'em when they want to -start on their own. They'll step into good farms as if it was stepping -out o' bed, and they'll have Blindbeck behind them and its brass as -well. They'll have a bit o' their own, come to that; I started 'em -saving-books myself. Eh, yes, they'll do right well, but I doubt -there's never farm nor Post Office book as'll come to Geordie-an'-Jim!" - -Later in the day, the smug cousin, trying to be kind, had enquired of -Sarah whether Geordie-an'-Jim were twins. She was too angry at first to -answer him at all, and by the time she managed to get her breath her -mood had changed. They were alone at the time, and even Sarah could -sometimes laugh at herself when Eliza was out of sight. The touch of -humour freed her heart for an instant, and at once it rose up and stood -by the lad whose mother had cast him off. Jim was suddenly before her, -with his tricks of affection and his borrowed face, his constant cry -that he had only been born at Blindbeck by mistake. "I'm your lad, -really, Aunt Sarah," she heard him saying, as of old. "I'm your lad -really, same as Geordie is!" Jim was forty by now, but it was a child's -voice that she heard speaking and couldn't deny. The cousin repeated -his question, and she smiled grimly. - -"Twins? Ay ... and as like as a couple o' peas. As like as a couple o' -gulls on the edge o' the tide...." - -It was the only time in her life that she ever stood openly by Eliza's -hated son. But perhaps even that one occasion may count in the final -sum of things.... - - - - - III - - -Now they had left the high-road and were making south-east through the -winding lanes. Their shoulders were turned to the sea, though in that -lost world of the mist only the native could tell where the bay was -supposed to lie. It was one of the dead hours, too, when even the salt -goes out of the marsh-air, and no pulse in it warns you subconsciously -of the miracle coming. Between the high-mounted hedges it was still and -close, and beyond them the land rose until its dank green surface stood -soft against the sky. All the way Simon looked at the land with a -critical eye, the eye of the lover which loves and asks at the same -time. He looked at the ploughland and knew the rotation through which it -had run and would have to run again; at rich grass-land which seemed -never to have known the steel, and fields which, at rest for a hundred -years, still spoke to some long-rusted share. He loved it, but he -thought of it first and foremost as good material for the good workman -engaged on the only job in the world. It was always the land that he -coveted when he came to Blindbeck, never the house. Eliza had made of -the house a temple to the god of Blessed Self-Satisfaction, but even -Eliza could not spoil the honest, workable land. - -The farm kept showing itself to them as they drove, a quadrangle of -long, well-kept buildings backed by trees. When the sun shone, the -white faces of house and shippon looked silver through the peeping-holes -of the hedge, but to-day they were wan and ghostly in the deadening -mist. The turned beeches and chestnuts were merely rusty, instead of -glowing, and seemed to droop as if with the weight of moisture on their -boughs. The Scotch firs on a mound alone, stark, straight, aloof, had -more than ever that air of wild freedom which they carry into the tamest -country; and the pearly shadow misting their green alike in wet weather -or in dry, was to-day the real mist, of which always they wear the other -in remembrance. - -The farm had its back well into the grassy hill, and the blind river -which gave it its name wound its way down to it in a hidden channel and -went away from it in a hidden dip in a field below. There was water -laid on at Blindbeck, as Sarah knew, with a copper cylinder in a special -linen-room, and a hot towel-rail and a porcelain bath. Simon's -particular envy was the electric light, that marvel of marvels on a -northern farm. He never got over the wonder of putting his hand to the -switch, and seeing the light flash out on the second to his call. Once -he had sneaked out of the house on a winter's night, and in the great -shippon had turned the lights on full. Eliza, of course, had been nasty -about it when she heard, but Will had understood him and had only -laughed. Later, swinging a lantern in his own dark shippon, Simon had -thought of those switches with envious longing. He did not know that -they had taken the warm glamour out of the place, and slain in a blow -the long tradition of its beauty. The lantern went with him like a -descended star as he moved about, and out of the cattle's breath wove -for itself gold-dusted halos. There had been something precious about -it all before, some sense of mystery and long-garnered peace, but -to-night he could only remember Blindbeck and its modern toy. For the -time being he ceased to feel the pull of the sweetest chain in the -world, which runs straight back through all the ages to the Child in the -Bethlehem Stall.... There was a billiard-table at Blindbeck, too, with -more switches to tempt Simon, and a well-laid tennis-lawn in the neat -garden by the stream. On the far side of the farm was a great highway -running north and south, as well as a main-line station over the drop of -the hill. It seemed as if everything was made easy for those who lived -at Blindbeck, from the washing of pots and the moving of stock to the -amusement and education of the bairns. - -Folk who came to Blindbeck for the first time believed that at last they -had found the farm of all their dreams. They called it an Earthly -Paradise, a model miniature village, a moral object-lesson, a True Home. -They came to it between well-cropped fields, marked by trim hedges and -neat stone walls, and through uniformly painted gates secure in hinge -and hasp into a tidy yard. They looked with pleasure at the shining -knocker on the green house-door and the fruit tree lustily climbing the -warm south wall. They looked with delight at the healthy, handsome -family, the well-placed buildings and the show of pedigree stock. They -looked at Will as he went shyly by, and said that his wife was -undoubtedly the better horse. They looked at Eliza and said that she -was the Housewife of Romance. When they went away they told others of -this Paradise which was Blindbeck, and the others came in their turn and -looked and said the same. But to Simon and Sarah it was plain Purgatory -and nothing else, and with each gate that they loosed they unloosed a -devil as well. - -There was a party at Blindbeck this afternoon, as long custom might have -led them to expect. It was part of Eliza's Method to gather a party -together when the poor relations were due. There was always a noisy -crowd, it seemed to the Simons, when they were tired, or when they had -any particular business to transact. On the day after the lads had flown -there had been an unusually large crowd, with faces that looked like -masks to the parents' tired eyes.... Will was fond of young folk, and -made no objection to the stream of 'company' passing beneath his roof. -His shy, quiet eyes watched the young tide of life surging ahead, with -Eliza floundering like a porpoise in its midst. He was content only to -watch, but he was not stranded, like the thirsty Simons; the waves still -lapped about his feet. He could see youth and the pride of youth -without the sense of desolation which embittered his brother and took -his brother's wife by the throat. Simon was always surly when he came -to Blindbeck, while Sarah was like a bomb in the hand which any -unconscious soul might throw. Will did not know that for them every lad -that they looked at should have been Geordie, and each lass a lass of -their own with Geordie's face. He was sorry and sympathetic, but he did -not know those things. It was Eliza who knew, and used the knowledge -for her private ends. You could always be sure that Eliza knew where -your hidden things were kept. - -To-day, tired as they were with the hours in town, and already reacting -from their great decision, a jovial party seemed more than they could -stand. Signs of it reached them as they came to the last gate, making -Sarah draw in her lips and Simon scowl. The sounds seemed intensified -by the stillness of the day, crossing and jarring the mood of Nature as -well as that of the approaching guests. Faces were pressed to panes as -they rattled up, but nobody came out to give Sarah a hand down, or to -offer to help Simon with the horse. They were too common a sight to -arouse any interest or even courtesy in that house. - -She climbed down gropingly, and he led the horse away, leaving her -standing, waiting, in the empty yard. She stood with her back turned to -the kitchen window, conscious, though she could not see them, of the -eyes that were raking her shabby figure through the glass. The sounds -of merriment burst out afresh, and she winced a little, though she did -not move. They were laughing at her, she felt sure, but there was -nothing new to that. They often laughed, she knew, since she had ceased -to be able to stop them with a glance. She shivered, standing there, -and her bones ached with the damp, but she was in no hurry to enter the -warm, crowded room. It was better to shiver in the coldest spaces of -earth than to be shut into Heaven itself with Eliza and her tongue. - -The green house-door with its brass knocker was close at her left hand, -but she did not attempt to open it and go in. That was a privilege only -accorded to the rich and proud, not to a poor relation come to beg. -Nevertheless, it was one of her hidden dreams that someday she would -enter by that grand front-door. In the Great Dream Geordie came home -with a fortune in his hands, so that all doors, even the Door of -Blindbeck, instantly stood wide. They would drive up to it in a smart -cart behind a fast young horse, with Geordie, a pattern of fashion, -holding the reins. His mother would be beside him, of course, in -crackling silk, with a velvet mantle and a bonnet of plumes and jet. -Simon, the lesser glory, would have to sit behind, but even Simon would -be a sight for Blindbeck eyes. When the Dream came true, the house -could be as full of pryers as it chose, with crushed noses and faces -green with envy set like bottle-ends in every pane. The farm-men would -come to the doors and gape, and even the dogs would stop to sniff at so -much that was new. Geordie would jump down, reins in hand, and bang the -brass knocker until it shook the house, while Sarah, secure in the -presence of her golden lad, would sit aloft and aloof like any other -silken queen. Soon they would hear Eliza's step along the sacred, -oil-clothed passage; and she, when she opened the door, would see their -glory framed beyond. Sarah would throw her a graceful word, asking leave -to step inside, and climb down with a rustle of silk on the arms of her -husband and son. She would set her feet on the snowy steps and never as -much as trouble to look for a mat. With a smile she would offer her -hostess a kindly, kid-gloved hand. In the whole armour of the -successful mother she would bear down upon her foe.... - -It was one of those things that seem as if they might happen so easily, -and never do,--never do. Simon returned presently, accompanied by Will, -and they entered the house as usual through the old stone porch. No dog -even looked aside at them as they crossed to the kitchen door. No -portent of coming wonder shed a sudden sunlight on the day. The old -trap was tipped on its shafts behind a sheltering wall. The old horse, -himself mere waiting food for the nearest hounds, munched his way -happily through his feed of Blindbeck corn. - -Will talked shyly as he led the way, trying to brighten the melancholy -pair. - -"You must have a sup o' tea before we get to business," he said to his -brother, "and Sarah can rest herself while we have our crack. We're over -soon wi' tea to-day, but I reckon you won't mind that. You'll be tired -likely, and it's none so warm. I'll be bound Simon'll have a thirst on -him anyway!" he smiled to Sarah. "He's done a deal o' tattling, Simon -has, to-day!" - -He could not get any response from them, however; indeed, they scarcely -seemed to hear. The fear of Eliza was upon them, that was always so -strong until they were actually in her presence, the same fear that had -sent them scuttling like scared rabbits out of the Witham inn. Sarah was -struggling with the usual jealous ache as they entered the spacious, -cleanly place, with the kindly smell of new-baked bread filling the -whole house. She knew as well as the mistress where the kitchen things -were kept, the special glories such as the bread-maker, the -fruit-bottler, and the aluminium pans. The Blindbeck motto had always -been that nothing beats the best. Half her own tools at home were -either broken or gone, and there was only a blind woman to make shift -with the rest as well as she could. Little need, indeed, for a great -array, with the little they had to cook; and little heart in either -cooking or eating since Geordie had gone away.... - -Will opened the door of the main kitchen, and at once the warmth and -jollity sweeping out of it smote the shrinking visitors like an actual -blast. The party were already at table, as he had said, and met the -late-comers with a single, focussed stare. It was one of their chief -bitternesses, indeed, that they always seemed to arrive late. Eliza was -at the back of it, they felt almost sure, but they had never been able -to discover how. No matter how they hurried the old horse, asked the -hour of passers-by, or had Simon's old watch put as right as it would -allow, they never seemed to arrive at the right time. They could not be -certain, of course, that she had watched for them from upstairs, and at -the first sign of their coming had hustled the party into tea, but -somehow or other they knew it in their bones. Things happened like -that, they would have told you, when you were up against Mrs. Will; -things that never by any chance would have happened with anybody else. - -The room was cloudy to Sarah as she went in, but jealousy had long ago -printed its details on her mind. She knew what the vivid wall-paper was -like, the modern furniture and the slow-combustion grate. Once it had -been a beautiful old houseplace with a great fire-spot and a crane, an -ingle-nook, a bacon-loft, and a chimney down which both sun and moon -could slant a way. Eliza, however, had soon seen to it that these -absurdities were changed, and Sarah, though she affected contempt, -approved of the changes in her heart. It was true that she always -returned to Sandholes with a great relief, but she did not know that its -bare austerity soothed her finer taste. She only knew that her mind -expanded and her nerves eased, and, though grief went with her over -every flag and board, a cool hand reached to her forehead as she went -in. - -Simon included in one surly glance the faces round the loaded table, the -bright flowers, the china with the gilded rim, and the new -window-curtains which he would never even have seen in any house but -this. "Plush, by the look on 'em, and the price of a five pun note!" he -thought resentfully, as he stood waiting to be given a place, and -wondering which of the people present he disliked the most. There were -the two Swainson lasses from the nearest farm, with their young duke of -a brother, who was in a Witham bank. There was a Lancashire youth whom -Will had taken as pupil, and Stephen Addison and his missis, who were -both of them preaching-mad. He held forth at chapel and she at -Institute meetings and the like, and folk said they kept each other -awake at nights, practising which of them could do it best. There was -Sam Battersby of Kitty Fold, who never knew where his own heaf ended and -other people's began, and the familiar smug cousin, long since formally -pledged to Eliza's eldest lass. There was a grandchild or two, and of -course the Blindbeck brood, with the exception of a couple of married -daughters and the obliterated Jim.... It was small wonder, indeed, -that, after all those years, nobody missed him in that upcoming crowd. - -Eliza's hearty voice, that was never hearty at core, rose like a -strong-winged, evil bird at the unwanted guests. The sight of them -seemed to surprise her so much that she dropped a gold-rimmed cup. - -"Surely to goodness, Simon and Sarah, yon's never you! I'd give you up -an hour back or more, I had indeed. You've been a terble while on -t'road, surely,--a terble while after us? But there,--I always forget -how fast yon grand little mare of ours gets over t'ground! You'd need -to start sooner than most folk wi' your poor old crock." - -She broke off to throw a remonstrance at Will, who was bundling two of -his daughters out of their seats to make room for their uncle and aunt. - -"Nay, now, Will," she called vexedly down the table. "What d'ye think -you're at? Leave t'lasses alone, can't you? Let the poor things be! -If it's a chair you're wanting, there's one here by me as'll suit Sarah -just grand. Sarah can't abide a chair wi' a cane bottom,--says it rubs -her gown. It's right enough, too, I'm sure, wi' velvet and the -like,--(I made a bonny mess o' yon grand gown I had when Annie Belle was -wed),--but I can't see as it'll do any harm to a bit o' poorish serge. -Anyway, Sarah can have the best plush to set on, if she sets here, and, -as for Simon, you're for ever sticking him where I can't so much as see -the end of his nose! You're never thinking I'm still sweet on him, -surely," she added, laughing, "or that happen he'll be making sheep's -eyes at me, as he used to do?" - -She looked at the young folk, and chuckled and winked, and they nudged -each other and laughed, too. But Sarah did not laugh as she waited -behind the chairs, or Simon, red to the ears, and recalling the -machinations of Eliza's youth. He pushed one of his nieces roughly out -of his way and took her place, while Sarah went slowly to seat herself -on the red plush chair that was warranted not to hurt her poor patched -gown. - -"I hope there's summat for you, I'm sure!" Eliza went on, when the -giggling and whispering had died down, and Simon's thin cheeks had lost -their furious red. She cast an anxious glance down the well-filled -table, but her tone was complacency itself. "Folks as come late can't -expect to find everything just so.... Ay, I give you up a long while -back. Sally here'll tell you I give you up. 'Sally,' I says to her, -'likely yon old horse'll be put to it to do the extra bit, and so -they've happen thought better on't, and gone straight home. You're that -used to good horses, Sally,' I says, 'you don't rightly know how poor -folks has to shift. Not but what they'll get a deal better tea here than -they will at home, Sally,' I says, 'and though I says it as shouldn't, -that's the truth! Ay, they'll come to tea, I'll be bound, Sally,' I -says, but I changed my mind when I thought on the old horse." - -Sarah said nothing in reply to this, partly because her brain was -swimming with the heat of the room, but chiefly because she never did -say anything until Eliza was well ahead in the race for speech. This -particular method helped her to reserve her strength, but at the same -time it deepened the bitterness in her heart. It would have been better -for both of them if they could have got the inevitable tussle over at -the start; exhaustion on both sides might have brought at least a -pretence at amity in its train. But it had always been Sarah's instinct -to hold herself back, and time had turned the instinct into a fixed -need. For the moment, at least, her strength was certainly to sit -still. - -"I doubt there's no tea for you just this minute, Sarah," Eliza said, -affecting great concern as she lifted the tea-pot lid. "Sally, my lass, -you'd best see about mashing another pot. There'll be a deal o' folk -sending up for more in a brace o' shakes, and we can't have them saying -they're not as well-tret at Blindbeck as they're used. Not as anybody's -ever said it yet as I've heard tell, though you never know what folks'll -do for spite. Most on 'em get through their three cups afore they're -done, and me like as not just barely through my first. Eh, but I used to -be terble bothered, just at the start, keeping folks filled and their -mugs as they rightly should! You bairns wasn't up then, of course, but -we'd farm-lads in the house, and wi' a rare twist to 'em an' all! Yon's -a thing you've never been bothered with, Sarah, wi' such a small spot -and lile or nowt in the way o' work. You'd nobbut a couple o' hands at -any time, had you, and not them when you'd Geordie-an'-Jim? You've a -deal to be thankful for, I'm sure, you have that! You've always been -able to set down comfortable to your meat, instead o' fretting yourself -to skin and bone seeing as other folk had their wants." - -Here Mrs. Addison offered to pass her cup, and then thought better of -it, remembering the new brew. Eliza, however, urged it forward. -Apparently she had discovered concealed virtue under the tea-pot lid. - -"Nay, now, Mrs. Addison, there's a sup in the pot yet! You've no call -to look shy about it,--I wasn't talking at you! ... Pass Mrs. Addison -the cream, Mary Phyllis, and waken up and look sharp about it! -Blindbeck tea's none the worse, I reckon, for a drop o' Blindbeck -cream...." She returned the cup, smiling benignly, and then pretended -to have lost Sarah and suddenly found her again. "Losh, Mrs. Simon, -you're that whyet I'd clean forgot you were there! You'll not want to -be waiting on Sally and the fresh brew. I'll wet leaves again for you -just to be going on with!" - -So Sarah got the bottom of the pot after a little more talk, a hunt for -a clean cup and an address on the value of the spoons. Half a -cup--consisting chiefly of tea-leaves--was passed to Simon, but was -intercepted on its way by Will. Simon did not notice the manoeuvre, -being busy glowering at a niece's shoulder turned sulkily on him from -the left; but Eliza saw it from her end of the table and turned an angry -red. She never forgot Simon's indifference to her as a girl, and would -have made him pay for the insult if she could. She could not always -reach him, however, because of the family tie which nothing seemed able -to break. But Sarah, at least, it was always consoling to think, could -be made to pay. There were times when all her reserve could not hide -from a gleeful Eliza that she paid.... - -So Simon got the new brew without even knowing that it was new, while -Sarah drank the unpleasant concoction that was weak at the top and -bitter as sea-water at the bottom. Sally came in with another great -brown pot, and sat down languidly at her aunt's side. She and the smug -cousin had been engaged for years, but there seemed little prospect of -the wedding taking place. She had been a handsome girl, and was good to -look at still, but there were handsomer Thornthwaites growing and grown -up, as apparently the cousin was quick enough to perceive. To-day he -had found a seat for himself beside Mary Phyllis, who kept glancing -across at her sister with defiant pride. Sally had a cheap town-look -nowadays, the cousin thought, not knowing that she had assumed it long -ago to please himself. Now that he was more mature, he preferred the -purer country type of Mary Phyllis, as well as the fresher atmosphere of -her youth. Sally talked to young Swainson, and pretended not to care, -but she was too unhappy to bother about her aunt. The Simon -Thornthwaites were boring at any time, like most permanently unlucky -people, and to-day she was too worried even to try to be kind. So -Sarah, after whom she was called, and who was her godmother to boot, got -very little to eat and only the dregs of things to drink; and nobody at -all rose up to deliver her from Eliza. - -Mrs. Addison had opened her mouth very impressively more than once, but -it was only now that she got a chance to speak. In spite of their -boasted fluency, both she and her husband had always to yield the palm -to Mrs. Will. Mrs. Addison, however, always watched her chance, while -Stephen was simply flabby, and did not try. She and Eliza in the same -room were like firmly opposing currents, flowing strongly in the same -stream. - -"Mr. Addison's to preach at this mission they're having, next week," she -announced proudly. "There's to be a Service for men only, and our -Stephen's to give 'em a talk. I won't say but what he'll do as well as -a real minister, even though I do happen to be his wife. Likely you'll -think on about it, and send some of your lads along, Mrs. Will?" - -Eliza was quite unable to conceal her disgust at a distinction achieved -by somebody not her own. - -"I'll do my best, I'm sure," she assented casually and without looking -at her, "though I doubt they'll want coaxing a bit wi' a broom-handle or -a clout!" She disliked being called Mrs. Will, and knew that Mrs. -Addison did it with fell intent. It was galling to be reminded that, in -spite of his success, Will had still not managed to make himself into -the elder son.... "I can't say they're that set on either church or -chapel unless it's to see a lass," she went on, busy with the cups, "and -I doubt they don't reckon much o' sermons unless they're good. They've -been better eddicated than most folk, you'll think on, so they're hard -to suit. 'Tisn't likely they could do wi' second-hand preaching from -some as happen never went to school at all." - -Mr. A'ddison made a sudden attempt to speak, but choked instead, while -Eliza looked as innocent as a large-sized lamb. - -"Ay, I've heard a deal o' sermons as was just waste breath," she went on -kindly, "and that's the truth. All the same, I'll likely look in at -Mission myself, one o' these days, if I can get away. I'm always glad -to set still after a hard week, and to get a look at other folks' -jackets and hats. Not that there's much to crack on at chapel, that -way.... I'm a deal fonder o' church. I was wed at St. Michael's, -you'll think on,--ay, and Sarah an' all. Eh, I could laugh even yet at -yon march we stole on her, me an' Will!" - -Sally moved impatiently at her aunt's elbow, and muttered something -under her breath. She was tired of the old story, and disapproved of it -as well. Sarah had lifted her cup to her lips, but now she set it -down.... - -Mary Phyllis stopped giggling a moment, and leaned forward to speak. - -"I was telling Cousin Elliman about it only this morning," she said -noisily, "and he says it's the funniest thing he ever heard! I thought -everybody knew about it, but he says he didn't. He said it was real -smart of you, Mother, and he wished he could have been there...." - -"I'll be bound Sarah didn't think it smart!" Eliza chuckled, but without -glancing at her victim's face. She had a trick of discussing people -when they were present, as Sarah knew. She could tell by the trend of -Eliza's voice that she spoke without turning her head. - -"Smart? Nay! Sarah was real wild, you take my word! I spoke to her in -t'vestry when the show was through, and she give me a look as was more -like a dog's bite. Eh, well, I reckon poor Sarah was jealous o' my -gown, seeing her own was nowt to crack on,--and nowt then! I'd always -settled to be real smart when I got wed, and my own lasses was just the -same. None o' my folk can do wi' owt as isn't first-class and happen a -bit over. Yon's the photo we had took at Annie Belle's wedding," she -added, turning to point, "and there's another of Alice Evelyn's in the -parlour." - -The cousin and Mary Phyllis left their seats to giggle together over the -stiff figures, and presently the girl turned to her sister with a -malicious taunt. - -"I say, our Sally, you'd best look out when you _do_ get wed, or happen -I'll play a trick on you, same as mother did Aunt Sarah! You'll be -rarely riled if I come marching up the aisle with a fine young man, -taking all the shine out of you and Elliman!" - -The cousin said something in a low tone which made her flush and laugh, -and Sally guessed at it quickly enough, though it did not reach her -ears. The tears came into her eyes, and on an impulse of fellow-feeling -she turned towards her aunt. She was asking after May Fleming when her -mother broke across her talk. - -"Eh, now, Sarah, yon was never May, was it, along wi' you in Witham? -I'll be bound I'd never have known her if she hadn't been with you, but -there's not that many you're seen about with nowadays at market. -'Tisn't like me, as can't stir a step without somebody wanting a crack -or hanging on to my gown. But May's changed out of all knowledge,--I was -fair bothered to see her look so old! I'll swear our Annie Belle looks -as young again, for all she's been wed a dozen year at least. Ay, I -thought May terble old, and terble unmannerly as well. I'd be shammed -to think as any lass o' mine had suchlike ways. You weren't -over-pleasant spoken yourself, Sarah, if it comes to that. The folk in -the caif were laughing a deal after you'd gone out, and saying you must -be wrong in the garrets to act so queer." - -Sarah had regained her spirit a little, in spite of her poor tea. She -straightened herself on the plush chair and answered calmly. - -"They can say what suits 'em and welcome, as long as they let me be. -You know what put me about, Eliza, and nobody to thank for it but -yourself. As for folks laughing and making game o' me and suchlike, it -was you they was sniggering at plain enough when I come out." - -Eliza's colour rose, but she struggled to keep her virtuous air. She -looked at Sarah with a sorrowful eye. - -"I wouldn't get telling lies about it, Sarah," she observed kindly, "I -wouldn't indeed! Mrs. Addison's listening, think on, and she'll be -rarely shocked at suchlike ways. Caif-folk were shocked more than a -deal, an' me just having a friendly talk an' all!" - -"It's a queer sort o' friendliness as puts folk to open shame!" Sarah's -colour was flying a flag, too. "It's nobbut a queer sort o' friend as -goes shouting your private business at the end of a bell!" - -"There isn't a deal that's private, surely, about the mess o' things -you've made on the marsh?..." The fight was really begun now, and Eliza -turned in her seat, fixing her adversary with merciless eyes. Sarah -could see very little but a monstrous blur, but she felt her malignant -atmosphere in every nerve. She could hear the big, solid presence -creaking with malice as it breathed, and had an impression of strained -whalebone and stretching cloth. But it was always Eliza's most -cherished garments that she visioned when they fought,--the velvet gown -that was folded away upstairs ... gloves, furs, and a feathered hat; -furthest of all, the wedding-gown and the flaunting veil.... - -"Private!" Eliza repeated the sneered word as if it were something too -precious to let go. "There can't be that much private about things as -we've all on us known for years. What, folks has puzzled no end why -you've never ended in t'bankruptcy court long since! Will and me could -likely ha' tellt them about it, though, couldn't we, Sarah? Will an' me -could easy ha' tellt 'em why! Will and me could ha' tellt where brass -come from as was keeping you on t'rails----" - -Will had been lending a careful ear to Simon's surly talk, but he lifted -his head at the sound of his name. - -"Now, missis, just you let Mrs. Simon be!" he admonished, with a -troubled frown. "You're over fond of other folks' business by a deal." - -"I'll let her be and welcome, if she'll keep a civil tongue in her -head!" Eliza cried. She went redder than ever, and slapped a tea-spoon -angrily on the cloth. "But if our brass isn't our business, I'd like to -know what is, and as for this stir about quitting Sandholes, it's -nothing fresh, I'm sure! We all on us know it's a marvel landlord -didn't get shot on 'em long ago." - -The last remark galvanised Battersby into lively speech. Hitherto he -had been busily concentrated on his food, but now his mean little -features sharpened and his mean little eyes shone. He bent eagerly -forward, leaning on the cloth, knife and fork erect like stakes in a -snatched plot. - -"What's yon about quitting Sandholes?" he asked, in a thin voice. "Are -you thinking o' leaving, Simon? Is it true?" - -"I don't see as it's any affair o' yours if it is," Simon answered him, -with a sulky stare. - -"Nay, it was nobbut a friendly question between man and man. If you're -quitting the farm it would only be neighbourly just to give me a hint. -There's a lad o' mine talking o' getting wed, and I thought as how -Sandholes'd likely be going cheap. Has anybody put in for it yet wi' -t'agent, do ye think?" - -"Nay, nor like to do, yet awhile," Simon answered glumly, full of sullen -hurt. All his love for his tiresome dwelling-place rose to the surface -at this greed. "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Battersby, as you ax so -kind, that I give in my notice but it wasn't took. Mr. Dent would have -it I mun think it over a bit more. Your lad'll just have to bide or look -out for somebody else's shoes." - -This dreadful exhibition of meanness aggrieved Battersby almost to the -verge of tears. - -"Well, now, if yon isn't dog-in-the-manger and nowt else!" he appealed -to the company at large. "What, you're late wi' your notice already, -and yet you're for sitting tight to the farm like a hen on a pot egg! I -shouldn't ha' thought it of you, Simon, I shouldn't indeed. Here's a -farmer wanting to quit and my lad wanting a farm, and yet the moment I -ax a decent question I get sneck-posset geyly sharp. You're jealous, -that's what it is, Simon; you're acting jealous-mean. You've nobbut -made a terble poor job o' things yourself, and you want to keep others -from getting on an' all!" - -Simon gave vent to an ironic laugh. - -"Nay, now, Sam, never fret yourself!" he jeered. "You and your lad'll -get on right enough, I'll be bound, what wi' your heaf-snatching and -your sheep-grabbing and the rest o' your bonny ways! What, man, one o' -your breed'd be fair lost on a marsh farm, wi' nowt to lay hands on -barrin' other folks' turmuts, and never a lile chance of an overlap!" - -Battersby's reputation was well known, and an irrepressible laugh -greeted Simon's speech, but was instantly cut short by the terrible -spectacle of the victim's face. Only the smug cousin went on laughing, -because he was ignorant as well as smug, and did not know what a heaf -meant, let alone how it was possible to add to it by Sam's skilful if -unlawful ways. Battersby jumped to his feet and thumped the table, so -that the blue and gold china danced like dervishes from end to end. -Mrs. Addison's tea made a waterfall down her second-best bodice, and -Sarah's heart, not being prepared for the thump, leaped violently into -her mouth. - -"I'll not be insulted in your spot nor nobody else's," he stormed at -Will; "nay, and I'll not take telling from yon wastrel you call brother, -neither! All on us know what a bonny mess o' things he's made at -Sandholes. All on us know it'll be right fain to see his back.... As -for you, you gomeless half-thick," he added, swinging round so suddenly -on the smug cousin that he was left gaping, "you can just shut yon -calf's head o' yours and mighty sharp or I'll shut it for you! Them as -knows nowt'd do best to say nowt, and look as lile like gawping -jackasses as Nature'll let 'em!" ... He sent a final glare round the -stifled table, and let Eliza have the sting in his tail. "I'd been -looking to be real friendly wi' Blindbeck," he finished nastily, "and my -lad an' all, but I don't know as we'll either on us be fain for it after -this. Nay, I wain't set down agen, missis, and that's flat, so you -needn't ax me! I'm off home and glad to be going, and no thanks to none -o' you for nowt!" - -He glanced at his plate to make certain there was nothing left, snatched -at his cup and hastily swallowed the dregs; then, thrusting his chair -backward so violently that it fell to the floor, he clapped his hat on -his head and marched rudely out. Eliza, catching a glance from a -tearful daughter, got to her feet, too. They swam from the room in a -torrent of loud apologies and bitter, snarled replies. - -Will leaned back in his chair with a fretted expression on his gentle -face. The cousin, slowly turning from red to mottled mauve, observed to -Mary Phyllis that the old man's language was 'really remarkably like my -chief's!' Some of the younger end started to giggle afresh, but Sarah -was still trembling from the unexpected shock, and Simon felt gloomy -again after his public effort. He could see that he had upset Will, and -that was the last thing he wanted to do, to-day. Will did not like -Battersby, but he liked peace, and there were other reasons for friendly -relations at present. Will's youngest daughter had a direct interest in -Battersby's lad and his hopes of a farm, and now the father had shaken -the Blindbeck dust from his proud feet. She looked across at the cause -of the trouble with tear-filled, indignant eyes. - -"Seems to me things is always wrong when you come to Blindbeck, Uncle -Simon!" she exclaimed hotly. "Nobody wants your old farm, I'm sure! I -wouldn't have it at a gift! But you might have spoken him fair about it, -all the same. I never see such folks as you and Aunt Sarah for setting -other folk by the ears!" - -Will said "Whisht, lass, whisht!" in as cross a tone as he ever used to -his girls, and Simon glowered at her sulkily, but he did not speak. She -was a fair, pretty thing, with Geordie-an'-Jim's eyes, and he did not -wish to injure her happiness in any way. It was true enough, as she -said, that there was generally something in the shape of a row as soon -as he and Sarah set foot in the house, but he could not tell for the -life of him how it came about. It could not be altogether their fault, -he thought resentfully, yet with a sort of despair. To-day, for -instance, he had every reason for keeping the peace, and yet that fool -of a Battersby must come jumping down his throat! Nobody could be -expected to stand such manners and such nasty greed,--grabbing a man's -homestead before his notice was well in! There was nothing surprising, -of course, in the fact that the women had already come to blows. He had -expected it from the start, and, with the resignation of custom, thought -it as well over soon as late. They had had one scrap, as it was, from -what Sarah had said, and the dregs of that pot of passion would still be -hot enough to stir. - -"It's a shame, that's what it is!" the girl was saying, over and over -again. Tears dropped from the Geordie-an'-Jim eyes, and Simon felt -furious with everybody, but particularly with himself. - -"You needn't bother yourself," he growled across at last, making a rough -attempt to put the trouble right. "Young Battersby's over much sense to -go taking a spot like ourn, and as for his dad, he'll be back afore you -can speak. 'Tisn't Sam Battersby, I'll be bound, if he isn't as pleased -as punch to be running in double harness wi' Blindbeck and its brass!" - -"Ay, like other folk!" Eliza dropped on him from the clouds, reappearing -panting from her chase. "Like other folk a deal nearer home, Simon -Thornthet, as you don't need telling! Battersby wanted nowt wi' the -farm,--he tellt me so outside. 'Tisn't good enough for the likes of -him, nor for our Emily Marion, neither! He was that stamping mad he was -for breaking it all off, but I got him promised to look in again next -week. I'd a deal o' work wi' him, all the same," she added, flushing -angrily at her brother-in-law's ironic smile, "and no thanks to you, -neither, if I come out top, after all! Anyway, I'll thank you to speak -folk civilly at my table, if you can, whatever-like hired man's ways you -keep for your own!" - -She would have hectored him longer if Will had not got to his feet and -taken himself and his brother out of the room, so instead she went back -to her seat and drank a large cup of tea in angry gulps. Between -drinks, however, she managed to say to the wife the things she had -wanted to say to the man, though Sarah was silent and paid little or no -heed. She wished she could have gone outside with the men, and helped -to decide what her future was to be. But it was not for her to advise, -who would soon be no better than a helpless log. It was her part to -wait patiently until Simon fetched her away. - -But it was not easy to wait at all in that atmosphere of critical -dislike. The successive passages of arms had had their natural effect, -and the party which had been so merry at the start was now in a state of -boredom and constraint. The thoughts of most of those present were -unfriendly towards the folk of the marsh, and Sarah could feel the -thoughts winding about her in the air. Emily Marion was right, so they -were saying in their minds; trouble always followed the Thornthwaites -the moment they appeared. Storms arose out of nowhere and destroyed -some festive occasion with a rush. Even to look at them, dowdy and -disapproving, was to take the heart out of any happy day. It was -certainly hard on the poor Will Thornthwaites that the tiresome Simons -should dare to exist. - -Sarah, bringing her mind back from the absent brothers with an effort, -found the Method working again at top speed. The tea had soothed -Eliza's nerves and stimulated her brain. She was now at her very best -for behaving her very worst. - -"And so Mr. Addison's preaching next week, is he?" she reverted -suddenly, making even that supreme egotist blink and start. Her Voice, -furred and soft, reminded Sarah of a paw reaching out for someone to -scratch. "Eh, now, but I should be in a rare twitter if it was Will as -was setting up to preach! But there, we're none of us much of a hand at -talking at our spot, and Will's summat better to do than just wagging a -loose tongue. I'll see the lads come along, though, as it's you, Mrs. -Addison, and an old friend, unless there's summat useful they're happen -wanted for at home. Eh, Sarah, but wouldn't they talks to young men ha' -done a sight o' good to Geordie-an'-Jim? It's a sad pity you didn't -start preaching before they went, Mr. Addison,--it is that! Like -enough, if you had, they'd be at Sandholes yet." - -The preacher's brow had been thunderous during the early part of this -speech, but now he looked suddenly coy. Sally, dropping her glance to -her aunt's lap, saw her fingers clench and unclench on a fold of her own -black gown. - -"Any news of the prodigals?" Elliman Wilkinson suddenly enquired. He -looked at Eliza as he spoke, and smiled as at a well-known joke. "I'm -always in hopes to find one of them eating the fatted calf." - -"Nay, you must ask Sarah, not me!" Eliza answered, with an affected -laugh. She despised Elliman in her heart, but she was grateful for the -cue. "Sarah knows what they're at, if there's anybody does at all. -Like enough they'll turn up one o' these days, but I don't know as we'll -run to calves. They'll be terble rough in their ways, I doubt, after -all this time. Out at elbows an' all, as like as not, and wi' happen a -toe or two keeking through their boots!" - -There was a ripple of laughter at this show of wit, and then Elliman, -urged by a nudge and a whisper from Mary Phyllis, repeated the question -in the proper quarter. He raised his voice when he spoke to Sarah, as -if she were deaf as well as blind, and when she paused a moment before -replying, he apostrophised her again. The whole table had pricked its -ears and was listening by the time the answer came. - -Sarah felt the giggles and the impertinent voice striking like arrows -through the misty ring in which she sat. Sharpest of all was Eliza's -laugh, introducing the question and afterwards punctuating it when it -was put. She was achingly conscious of the antipathetic audience hanging -on her lips. They were baiting her, and she knew it, and her heart -swelled with helpless rage. A passionate longing seized her to be lord -of them all for once,--just for once to fling back an answer that would -slay their smiles, put respect into their mocking voices and change -their sneers into awed surprise. If only for once the Dream and the -glory might be true,--the trap and the new clothes and Geordie and the -green front door! But nothing could be further from what they expected, -as she knew too well. They were waiting merely to hear her say what she -had often said before,--for news that there was no news or news that was -worse than none. She had faced more than one trial that day, and had -come out of them with her self-respect intact, but this unexpected -humiliation was more than she could bear. She was telling herself in -the pause that she would not answer at all, when something that she took -for the total revolt of pride spoke to the mockers through her lips. - -"Ay, but there's rare good news!" she heard herself saying in a cheerful -tone, and instantly felt her courage spring up and her heart lighten as -the lie took shape. "I'd been saving it up, Eliza, for when we were by -ourselves, but there's no sense, I reckon, in not saying it straight -out. Geordie's on his way home to England at this very minute, and he -says he's a rare good lining to his jacket an' all!" - -The air changed about her at once as she had always dreamed it would, -and she heard the gasp of surprise pass from one to another like a -quick-thrown ball. Eliza started so violently that she upset her cup -and let it lie. She stared malevolently at the other's face, her own -set suddenly into heavy lines. - -"Nay, but that's news and no mistake!" she exclaimed, striving after her -former tone, but without success. The note in her voice was clear to -her blind hearer, sending triumphant shivers through her nerves.... -"Tell us again, will you, Sarah?" she added sharply. "I doubt I heard -you wrong." - -"I'll tell you and welcome till the cows come home!" Sarah said, with a -sudden sprightliness that made the Wilkinson cousin open his eyes. It -was almost as if another person had suddenly taken possession of Sarah's -place. There was a vitality about her that seemed to change her in -every feature, an easy dignity that transformed the shabbiest detail of -her dress. Her voice, especially, had changed,--that grudging, dully -defiant voice. This was the warm, human voice of one who rejoiced in -secret knowledge, and possessed her soul in perfect security and -content. - -"He's coming, I tell you,--our Geordie's coming back!" The wonderful -words seemed to fill her with strong courage every time she spoke. "I -can't rightly tell you when it'll be, but he said we could look for him -any minute now. Likely we'll find him waiting at Sandholes when we've -gitten home. He's done well an' all, from what he says.... I'll be -bound he's a rich man. He talks o' buying Sandholes, happen,--or happen -a bigger spot. I make no doubt he's as much brass as'd buy Blindbeck -out an' out!" - -She fell silent again after this comprehensive statement, merely -returning brief ayes and noes to the questions showered upon her from -every side. Her air of smiling dignity, however, remained intact, and -even her blind eyes, moving from one to another eager face, impressed -her audience with a sense of truth. And then above the excited chatter -there rose Eliza's voice, with the mother-note sounding faintly through -the jealous greed. - -"Yon's all very fine and large, Sarah, but what about my Jim? Jim's -made his pile an' all, I reckon, if Geordie's struck it rich. He's as -smart as Geordie, is our Jim, any day o' the week! Hark ye, Sarah! -What about my Jim?" - -Quite suddenly Sarah began to tremble, exactly as if the other had -struck her a sharp blow. She shrank instantly in her chair, losing at -once her dignity and ease. The fine wine of vitality ran out of her as -out of a crushed grape, leaving only an empty skin for any malignant -foot to stamp into the earth. She tried to speak, but could find no -voice brave enough to meet the fierce rain of Eliza's words. A mist -other than that of blindness came over her eyes, and with a lost -movement she put out a groping, shaking hand. Sally, in a sudden access -of pity, gathered it in her own. - -She slid her arm round her aunt, and drew her, tottering and trembling, -to her feet. - -"It's overmuch for her, that's what it is," she said kindly, but taking -care to avoid her mother's angry glance. "It's knocked her over, coming -that sudden, and no wonder, either. Come along, Aunt Sarah, and sit -down for a few minutes in the parlour. You'll be as right as a bobbin -after you've had a rest." - -She led her to the door, a lithe, upright figure supporting trembling -age, and Elliman's eyes followed her, so that for once he was heedless -of Mary Phyllis when she spoke. Most of the company, indeed, had fallen -into a waiting silence, as if they knew that the act was not yet -finished, and that the cue for the curtain still remained to be said. -And the instinct that held them breathless was perfectly sound, for in -the square of the door Sarah halted herself and turned. Her worn hands -gripped her gown on either side, and if May had been there to see her, -she would again have had her impression of shrouded flame. She paused -for a moment just to be sure of her breath, and then her voice went -straight with her blind glance to the point where Eliza sat. - -"Jim's dead, I reckon!" she said, clearly and cruelly... "ay, I doubt -he's dead. Geordie'd never be coming without him if he was over sod. -You'd best make up your mind, Eliza, as he's dead and gone!" - -It was the voice of an oracle marking an open grave, of Cassandra, -crying her knowledge in Troy streets. It held them all spellbound until -she had gone out. Even Eliza was silent for once on her red plush -chair.... - - - - - IV - - -Each of the brothers Thornthwaite drew a breath of relief as soon as he -got outside. They were at ease together at once as soon as they were -alone. The contrast in their positions, so obvious to the world, made -little or no difference to the men themselves. It would have made less -still but for the ever-recurring problem of the women-folk, and even -that they did their best to put away from them as soon as they were out -of sight. Each could only plead what he could for the side he was bound -to support, and pass on hurriedly to a less delicate theme. Alone they -fell back easily into the relation which had been between them as lads, -and forgot that the younger was now a man of substance and weight, while -the elder had made an inordinate muddle of things. Will had always -looked up to Simon and taken his word in much, and he still continued to -take it when Eliza was not present to point to the fact that Simon's -wonderful knowledge had not worked out in practice. To-day, as they -wandered round the shippons, he listened respectfully while his brother -criticised the herd, quarrelled with the quality of the food-stuffs, and -snorted contempt at the new American method of tying cattle in the -stall. Experience had taught him that Simon was not the first who had -made a mess of his own affairs while remaining perfectly competent to -hand out good advice to others. The well-arranged water-supply was -Simon's idea, as well as the porcelain troughs which were so easy to -keep clean, and the milking-machine which saved so much in labour. There -were other innovations,--some, Eliza's pride,--which were due to Simon, -if she had only known it. He was a good judge of a beast as well, and -had a special faculty for doctoring stock, a gift which had certainly -not been allowed to run to waste during those bewitched and -disease-ridden years at Sandholes. Will was indebted to him for many -valuable lives, and often said that Simon had saved him considerably -more than he had ever lent him. It remained a perpetual mystery why so -useful a man should have achieved so much for others and so little for -himself. The answer could only lie in the curse that was glooming over -Sandholes,--if there was a curse. Nature certainly plays strange tricks -on those who do not exactly suit her book, but in any case the hate at -the heart of things was enough to poison luck at the very source. - -While Sarah sat through her long torment in the kitchen, rising up at -last for that great blow which at all events felled her adversary for -the time being, Simon was enjoying himself airing his knowledge in the -buildings, contradicting his brother on every possible occasion, and -ending by feeling as if he actually owned the place. However, the -reason of his visit came up at length, as it was bound to do, and his -air of expert authority vanished as the position changed. One by one, -as he had already done to Mr. Dent, he laid before his brother his -difficulties and disappointments, much as a housewife lays out the -chickens that some weasel has slain in the night. He wore the same air -of disgust at such absurd accumulation of disaster, of incredulity at -this overdone effort on the part of an inartistic fate. The story was -not new to Will, any more than to the agent, but he listened to it -patiently, nevertheless. He knew from experience that, unless you allow -a man to recapitulate his woes, you cannot get him to the point from -which a new effort may be made. He may seem to be following you along -the fresh path which you are marking out, but in reality he will be -looking back at the missed milestones of the past. And there were so -many milestones in Simon's case,--so many behind him, and so few to -come. After all, it could only be a short road and a bare into which -even the kindest brotherly love had power to set his feet. - -So for the second time that day Simon lived his long chapter of -accidents over again, his voice, by turns emphatic and indignant or -monotonous and resigned, falling like slanting rain over the unheeding -audience of the cattle. Will, listening and nodding and revolving the -question of ways and means, had yet always a slice of attention for his -immediate belongings. His eye, casual yet never careless, wandered over -the warm roan and brown and creamy backs between the clean stone slabs -which Simon had advocated in place of the ancient wooden stalls. The -herd was indoors for the winter, but had not yet lost its summer -freshness, and he had sufficient cause for pride in the straight-backed, -clean-horned stuff, with its obvious gentle breeding and beautiful -feminine lines. That part of his mind not given to his brother was -running over a string of names, seeing in every animal a host of others -whose characteristics had gone to its creation, and building upon them -the stuff of the generations still to come,--turning over, in fact, that -store of knowledge of past history and patient prophecy for the future -which gives the study of breeding at once its dignity and its -fascination. At the far end of the shippon, where the calf-pens were, he -could see the soft bundles of calves, with soft eyes and twitching ears, -in which always the last word in the faith of the stock-breeder was -being either proved or forsworn. The daylight still dropping through -skylights and windows seemed to enter through frosted glass, dimmed as -it was by the warm cloud of breathing as well as the mist that lined the -sky beyond. A bird flew in at intervals through the flung-back swinging -panes, and perched for a bar of song on the big cross-beams supporting -the pointed roof. A robin walked pertly but daintily down the central -aisle, a brave little spot of colour on the concrete grey, pecking as it -went at the scattered corn under the monster-noses thrust between the -rails. Simon leaned against a somnolent white cow, with an arm flung -lengthways down her back, his other hand fretting the ground with the -worn remnant of a crooked stick. Will's dog, a bushy, silvered thing, -whose every strong grey hair seemed separately alive, curled itself, -with an eye on the robin, at its master's feet. - -He roused himself to greater attention when Simon reached the account of -his interview with Mr. Dent. Accustomed as he was to more or less -traditional behaviour under the traditional circumstances which govern -such lives as his, he fastened at once on the puzzling attitude of the -agent. - -"It fair beats me what Mr. Dent could think he was at," he observed -thoughtfully. "Once you'd settled to quit there was no sense in keeping -you hanging on. Best make a job and ha' done wi' it, seems to me. -'Tisn't like Mr. Dent, neither, to carry on in such a fashion. I wonder -what made him act so strange?" - -Simon wore his original air of injured dignity as he leaned against the -cow. - -"Nay, I don't know, I'm sure, but he was terble queer! You might ha' -thought he was badly or summat, but he seemed all right. Come to that, -he looked as fit as a fiddle and as pleased as a punch! You might ha' -thought he'd had a fortune left him, or the King's Crown!" - -"Happen it was some private business," Will said, "and nowt to do wi' -you at all.... What did you think o' doing when you've quit the farm?" - -Simon poked the flags harder than ever, and from injured dignity sank to -sulks. The sudden pressure of his arm moved the somnolent cow to a -sharp kick. When he spoke it was in a surly tone, and with his eyes -turned away from Will's. - -"I'll have to get a job o' some sort, I reckon, to keep us going. I'm -over old for most folk, but I could happen do odds and ends,--fetching -milk and siding up, and a bit o' gardening and suchlike. The trouble is -the missis won't be able to do for herself before so long. The doctor -tellt her to-day she was going blind." - -His brother's face filled at once with sympathy and dismay. In that -forbidden compartment of his mind where he sometimes ventured to -criticise his wife, he saw in a flash how she would take the news. This -latest trouble of Sarah's would indeed be the summit of Eliza's triumph. -Poverty Sarah had withstood; blindness she might have mastered, given -time; but poverty and blindness combined would deliver her finally into -the enemy's hand. - -"I never thought it would be as bad as that," he murmured pityingly. -"It's a bad business, is that! ... Didn't doctor say there was anything -could be done?" - -"There was summat about an operation, but it'll get no forrarder," Simon -said. "They fancy things is hardly in Sarah's line." - -"If it's brass that's wanted, you needn't fash over that...." He added -more urgently as Simon shook his head, "It'd be queer if I grudged you -brass for a thing like yon!" - -"You're right kind," Simon said gratefully, "but it isn't no use. She's -that proud, is Sarah, she'll never agree. I doubt she just means to let -things slide." - -"She's no call, I'm sure, to be proud with me!" Will's voice was almost -hot. "I've always been ready any time to stand her friend. Anyway, -there's the offer, and she can take it or leave it as best suits her. -If she changes her mind after a while, she won't find as I've altered -mine.... But there's no sense in your taking a job and leaving a blind -woman to fend for herself. There's nowt for it but Sarah'll have to -come to us." - -Simon laughed when he said that, a grim, mirthless laugh which made the -dog open his sleepless eyes and throw him a searching glance. - -"Nay, nay, Will, my lad! It's right good of you, but it wouldn't do. A -bonny time you'd have, to be sure, wi' the pair on 'em in t'house! And -anyway your missis'd never hear tell o' such a thing, so that fixes it -right off." - -"It's my own spot, I reckon!" Will spoke with unusual force. "I can do -as suits me, I suppose. T'lasses hasn't that much to do they can't see -to a blind body, and as for room and suchlike, there'll be plenty soon. -Young Battersby's made it up with our Em, and it's more than time yon -Elliman Wilkinson was thinking o' getting wed. He's been going with our -Sally a terble long while, though he and Mary Phyllis seem mighty throng -just now. Anyway, there'll be a corner for Sarah right enough,--ay, and -for you an' all." - -But Simon shook his head again, and stood up straight and took his arm -off the back of the cow. - -"There'd be murder, I doubt," he said quite simply, and this time he did -not laugh. "There's bad blood between they two women as nobbut death'll -cure. Nay, I thank ye right enough, Will, but yon horse won't pull.... - -"I mun get a job, that's all," he went on quickly, before Will could -speak again, "and some sort of a spot where t'neighbours'll look to the -missis while I'm off. I'll see t'agent agen and try to ram into him as -I mean to gang, and if you hear of owt going to suit, you'll likely let -me know?" - -Will nodded but did not answer because of approaching steps, and they -stood silently waiting until the cowman showed at the door. At once the -deep symphony of the hungry broke from the cattle at sight of their -servant with his swill. The quiet picture, almost as still as if -painted on the wall, upheaved suddenly into a chaos of rocking, -bellowing beasts. The great heads tugged at their yokes, the great eyes -pleaded and rolled. The big organ-notes of complaint and desire chorded -and jarred, dropping into satisfied silence as the man passed from stall -to stall. Will jerked his head after him as he went out at the far -door, and said that he would be leaving before so long. - -"Eh? Taylor, did ye say?" Simon stared, for the man had been at -Blindbeck for years. "What's amiss?" - -"Nay, there's nowt wrong between us, if you mean that. But his wife's -father's had a stroke, and wants him to take over for him at Drigg. -News didn't come till I was off this morning, or I might ha' looked -round for somebody while I was in t'town." - -Simon began a fresh violent poking with his ancient stick. "You'll ha' -somebody in your eye, likely?" he enquired. "There'll be plenty glad o' -the job." - -"Oh, ay, but it's nobbut a weary business learning folk your ways." He -glanced at his brother a moment, and then looked shyly away. "If you're -really after a shop, Simon, what's wrong wi' it for yourself?" - -The painful colour came into the other's averted face. He poked so -recklessly that he poked the dog, who arose with an offended growl. - -"Nay, it's charity, that's what it is! I'm over old.... You know as -well as me I'd never get such a spot anywheres else." - -"You know the place, and you're a rare hand wi' stock. I could trust -you same as I could myself." - -"I'm over old," Simon demurred again, "and done to boot. I'd not be -worth the brass." - -"We've plenty o' help on the place," Will said. "It'd be worth it just -to have you about. Nigh the same as having a vet on t'spot!" he added -jokingly, trying to flatter him into acquiescence. "I'd be main glad -for my own sake," he went on, his face grave again and slightly wistful. -"There's times I fair ache for a crack wi' somebody o' my own. Women is -nobbut women, when all's said and done, and lads is like to think they -know a deal better than their dad.... Ay, well, you can think it over -and let me know," he finished, in a disappointed tone. - -Simon poked for a while longer, and succeeded in poking the cow as well -as the dog. He was fighting hard with his pride as he scraped busily at -the flags. The tie of blood pulled him, as well as the whole atmosphere -of the prosperous place. He knew in his heart that he was never so -happy as when he was with his brother, never so good a man as when he -was preaching in Will's shippons. As for pride, that would have to go -by the board sooner or later; indeed, who would say that he had any -right to it, even now? He made up his mind at last on a sudden impulse, -lifting his head with a hasty jerk. - -"I've had enough o' thinking things over, thank ye all the same. I'll -be main glad o' the job, Will, and that's the truth...." He sank back -instantly, however, and fell to poking again. "Folk'll have plenty to -say, though, I reckon," he added bitterly, "when they hear as I'm hired -man to my younger brother!" - -"They've always a deal to say, so what's the odds? As for younger and -older, there isn't a deal to that when you get up in years.... There's a -good cottage across t'road," he went on eagerly, bringing up -reinforcements before Simon should retire. "It's handy for t'stock, and -there's a garden and orchard as well. Lasses could see to Sarah, you'll -think on, if she's that closer. There's berry-bushes in t'garden and a -deal besides...." - -Simon was busy shaking his head and saying he wasn't worth it and that -he was over old, but all the time he was listening with interest and -even pleasure to Will's talk. Milking had now begun, and already, as -the levers swung back and forwards over the cattle's heads, he found -himself looking about the shippon with a possessive eye. Even in these -few moments, life had taken a turn for the Thornthwaite of the desolate -marsh farm. Already his back felt straighter, his eye brighter, his -brain more alive. The drawbacks of the proposed position began to -recede before the many advantages it had to offer. It was true, of -course, that he would be his brother's hired man, but it was equally -true that he was the master's brother, too. To all intents and purposes -he would be master himself,--that is to say, when Eliza wasn't about! -Will's cottages were good, like everything else of Will's, and the -lasses could see to Sarah, as he said. For himself there would be the -constant interest and stimulant of a big farm, as well as the mental -relief of a steady weekly wage. He felt almost excited about it as they -crossed the yard, making for Taylor's cottage over the road. He tried -not to think of what Sarah might say when she heard the news, still less -of what Mrs. Will would most certainly say. He felt equal to both of -them in his present spirited mood, and even tried to convince himself -that in time they would make friends. - -As they stood looking at Taylor's cottage and Taylor's gooseberry bushes -and canes, Will suddenly asked his brother whether there was any news of -Geordie. And Simon, when he had given the old answer that there was no -news that was worth crossing the road to hear, turned his face away in -the direction of Taylor's hens, and enquired whether there was any news -of Jim. - -"There's been none for a sight o' years now," Will answered sadly, -leaning on the wall. "Eliza wrote him a letter as put his back up, and -he's never sent us a line since. He always set a deal more by you and -your missis than he ever did by us. I'd ha' stood his friend, poor lad, -if he'd ha' let me, but he always took it I was agen him, too." - -There was silence between them for a while, and then,--"Eh, well, you've -a mort of others to fill his place!" Simon sighed, watching a -well-built lad swing whistling across the yard. - -Will raised himself from the wall, and watched him, too. - -"Ay, but I'd nobbut the one eldest son!" was all he said. - - - - - V - - -Sally led her aunt to the grand but unused parlour in which so many -expensive and handsome things were doomed to spend their lives. There -was a piano, of course, which none of the Blindbeck folk knew how to -play, in spite of Eliza's conviction that the gift was included in the -price. A Chippendale bookcase made a prison for strange books never -opened and never named, and the shut doors of a cabinet kept watch and -ward over some lovely china and glass. There was a satin-wood table -with a velvet sheen, whose polished mirror never reflected a laughing -human face. There was an American rocking-chair, poised like a floating -bird, with cushions filled with the finest down ever drawn from an -heirloom of a feather-bed. Sarah would not have taken the rocking-chair, -as a rule; she would have thought herself either too humble or too -proud. But to-day she went to it as a matter of course, because of the -false pomp that she had drawn to herself like a stolen royal robe. With -a sigh of relief that was half physical and half mental, she let herself -gently down, dropped her rusty bonnet against the silk, and peacefully -closed her eyes. - -Sally stood looking at her with an expression of mingled pity, curiosity -and awe. She had pitied her often enough before, but she had never -before seen her through the slightest veil of romance. Sometimes, -indeed, the tale of the damaged wedding-day had touched her imagination -like the scent of a bruised flower, but it was so faint and far-off that -it passed again like a breath. To-day, however, she had that sudden -sense of exquisite beauty in the old, which all must feel who see in -them the fragile storehouses of life. The old woman had known so much -that she would never know, looked on a different world with utterly -different eyes. There was romance in the thought of the dead she had -seen and spoken to and laughed with and touched and loved. And even -now, with the flower of her life apparently over and withered back again -to its earth, this sudden splendour of Geordie had blossomed for her at -the end. - -The girl waited a moment, hoping for a word, and then, though rather -reluctantly, turned towards the door. She wanted to hear still more -about the marvellous news, but the old woman looked so tired that she -did not like to ask. She was anxious, too, to get back to the kitchen -to keep an eye on Mary Phyllis. Yet still she lingered, puzzled and -curious, and still touched by that unusual sense of awe. An exotic -beauty had passed swiftly into the musty air of Eliza's parlour, a sense -of wonder from worlds beyond ... the strong power of a dream. - -"You're over-tired, aren't you, Aunt Sarah?" she repeated, for want of -something better to say. She spoke rather timidly, as if aware that the -words only brushed the surface of deeper things below. - -Sarah answered her without opening her eyes. - -"Ay, my lass. Just a bit." - -"You'd best stop here quietly till Uncle Simon's yoked up. I'll see -nobody bothers you if you feel like a nap. I'd fetch you a drop of -cowslip wine, but mother's got the key." - -"Nay, I want nowt wi' it, thank ye," Sarah said. "I'll do all right." -She lifted her hands contentedly, and folded them in her lap. "Likely -I'll drop off for a minute, as you say." - -"Ay, well, then, I'd best be getting back." She moved resolutely now, -but paused with her hand on the latch. "Aunt Sarah," she asked rather -breathlessly, "was all that about Cousin Geordie true?" - -Sarah's lids quivered a little, and then tightened over her eyes. - -"Ay. True enough." - -"It's grand news, if it is! ... I'm right glad about it, I'm sure! I've -always thought it hard lines, him going off like that. And you said -he'd done well for himself, didn't you, Aunt Sarah? ... Eh, but I wish -Elliman could make some brass an' all!" - -"There's a deal o' power in brass." The words came as if of themselves -from behind the mask-like face. "Folks say it don't mean happiness, but -it means power. It's a stick to beat other folk wi', if it's nowt -else." - -"I don't want to beat anybody, I'm sure!" Sally laughed, though with -tears in her voice. "I only want what's my own." - -"Ay, we all on us want that," Sarah said, with a grim smile. "But it's -only another fancy name for the whole world!" - - ---- - -She sat still for some time after the girl had gone out, as if she were -afraid that she might betray herself before she was actually alone. -Presently, however, she began to rock gently to and fro, still keeping -her hands folded and her eyes closed. The good chair moved easily -without creak or jar, and the good cushions adapted themselves to every -demand of her weary bones. Geordie should buy her a chair like this, -she told herself as she rocked, still maintaining the wonderful fiction -even to herself. She would have cushions, too, of the very best, -covered with silk and cool to a tired cheek. A footstool, also, ample -and well stuffed, and exactly the right height for a pair of aching -feet. - -But though one half of her brain continued to dally with these pleasant -fancies, the other was standing amazed before her late stupendous act. -She was half-aghast, half-proud at the ease with which she had suddenly -flung forth her swift, gigantic lie. Never for a moment had she -intended to affirm anything of the kind, never as much as imagined that -she might hint at it even in joke. She had been angry, of course, -bitter and deeply hurt, but there had been no racing thoughts in her -mind eager to frame the princely tale. It had seemed vacant, indeed, -paralysed by rage, unable to do little else but suffer and hate. And -then suddenly the words had been said, had shaped themselves on her lips -and taken flight, as if by an agency with which she had nothing to do. -It was just as if somebody had taken her arm and used it to wave a -banner in the enemy's face; as if she were merely an instrument on which -an angry hand had suddenly played. - -So she was not ashamed, or even really alarmed, because of this inward -conviction that the crime was not her own. Yet the voice had been hers, -and most certainly the succeeding grim satisfaction and ironic joy had -been hers! She allowed herself an occasional chuckle now that she was -really alone, gloating freely over Eliza's abasement and acute dismay. -For once at least, in the tourney of years, she had come away victor -from the fray. No matter how she was made to pay for it in the end, she -had had the whip-hand of Blindbeck just for once. Indeed, now that it -was done,--and so easily done,--she marvelled that she had never done it -before. At the back of her mind, however, was the vague knowledge that -there is only one possible moment for tremendous happenings such as -these. Perhaps the longing engendered by the Dream in the yard had -suddenly grown strong enough to act of its own accord. Perhaps, as in -the decision about the farm, a sentence lying long in the brain is -spoken at length without the apparent assistance of the brain.... - -She did not trouble herself even to speculate how she would feel when at -last the truth was out. This was the truth, as long as she chose to -keep it so, as long as she sat and rocked and shut the world from her -dreaming eyes. From pretending that it was true she came very soon to -believing that it might really be possible, after all. Such things had -happened more than once, she knew, and who was to say that they were not -happening now? She told herself that, if she could believe it with -every part of herself just for a moment, it would be true. Up in -Heaven, where, as they said, a star winked every time a child was born, -they had only to move some lever or other, and it would be true. - -A clock ticked on the mantelpiece with a slow, rather hesitating sound, -as if trying to warn the house that Sunday and the need of the -winding-key were near. There was a close, secretive feeling in the -room, the atmosphere of so many objects shut together in an almost -terrible proximity for so many days of the week. She was so weary that -she could have fallen asleep, but her brain was too excited to let her -rest. The magnitude of her crime still held her breathlessly -enthralled; the glamour of it made possible all impossible hopes. She -dwelt again and again on the spontaneity of the lie, which seemed to -give it the unmistakable stamp of truth. - -She had long since forgotten what it was like to be really happy or even -at peace, but in some sort of fierce, gloating, heathenish way she was -happy now. She was conscious, for instance, of a sense of importance -beyond anything she had ever known. Even that half of her brain which -insisted that the whole thing was pretence could not really chill the -pervading glow of pride. She had caught the reflection of her state in -Eliza's voice, as well as in others less familiar to her ear. She had -read it even in Sally's kindly championship and support; through the -sympathy she had not failed to hear the awe. The best proof,--if she -needed proof,--was that she was actually here in the sacred parlour, and -seated in the precious chair. Eliza would have turned her out of both -long since, she knew, if she had not been clad in that new importance as -in cloth of gold. - -The impossible lies nearer than mere probability to the actual fact; so -near at times that the merest effort seems needed to cross the line. -Desire, racking both soul and body with such powerful hands, must surely -be strong enough to leap the slender pale. The peculiar mockery about -ill-luck is always the trifling difference between the opposite sides of -the shield. It is the difference between the full glass and the glass -turned upside-down. But to-day at least this tired old woman had swung -the buckler round, and laughed as she held the glass in her hand and saw -the light strike through the wine. - -In this long day of Simon's and Sarah's nothing was stranger than the -varying strata of glamour and gloom through which in turn they passed. -Their days and weeks were, as a rule, mere grey blocks of blank, -monotonous life, imperceptibly lightened or further shadowed by the -subtle changes of the sky. But into these few hours so closely packed -with dreadful humiliations and decisions, so much accumulated unkindness -and insult and cold hate, there kept streaming upon them shafts of light -from some centre quite unknown. For Simon there had been the unexpected -stimulant of his Witham success, and later the new interest in life -which Will's proposal had seemed to offer. For Sarah there was the -wistful pleasure of her morning with May, as well as the unlawful but -passionate pleasure of her present position. The speed of the changes -kept them over-strung, so that each as it came found them more sensitive -than the last. They were like falling bodies dropping by turn through -cloud and sunlit air. They were like total wrecks on some darkened sea, -catching and losing by turn the lights of an approaching vessel. - -The slow clock dragged the protesting minutes on, and still no one -disturbed her and the dream widened and grew. Tea would be brought in -soon, she told herself in the dream,--strong, expensive, visitor's tea, -freshly boiled and brewed. The silver teapot would be queening it over -the tray, flanked by steaming scones and an oven-new, home-made cake. -Eliza herself would appear to entertain her guest, always with that new -note of reverence in her voice. When the door opened they would hear -another voice,--Geordie's, laughing and talking in some room beyond. -All the happy young voices of the house would mingle with his, but -always the youngest and happiest would be Geordie's own. Hearing that -voice, she would make mock of herself for ever having feared Eliza's -tongue, still more for ever having cared enough to honour her with hate. -A small thing then would be the great Eliza, in spite of her size, -beside the mother for whom the dead had been made alive. She would talk -with Eliza as the gods talk when they speak with the humble human from -invisible heights. So strong was the vision that she found herself -framing the godlike sentences with gracious ease. The silver teaspoons -clinked against the cups, and the visitor's tea was fragrant in the -musty room. She spread a linen handkerchief across her knee ... a snowy -softness against her silken knee.... And always, always, as the meal -progressed, the voice of her ecstasy sang in her happy ear.... - -She had that one moment of clear beauty unprofaned by hate, with -Geordie's face swimming before her in a golden haze. Then her hand, -going out to the silk and linen of the dream, encountered the darned and -threadbare serge of dreary fact. The dream rent violently all around -her, letting her out again into the unlovely world. Even her blindness -had been forgotten for the time, for in the dream she was never blind. -Now the touch of the darns under her hand brought back the long hours of -mending by candlelight which had had their share in despoiling her of -her sight. She would never be able to darn by candlelight again, and -the loss of that drudgery seemed to her now an added grief, because into -this and all similar work, as women know, goes the hope of the future to -emerge again as the soul of the past.... Sarah knew that her hand would -ache for her needle as the sailor's hand aches for the helm, or the -crippled horseman's for the feel of the flat rein. She felt, too, a -sudden desperate anger against the woman who would have the mending of -Simon's clothes. Geordie's, she knew, she would simply have wrenched -from any stranger's hands, but since there was no Geordie she need not -think of that. The Dream had been merely the make-believe of the -bitterly oppressed, who had taken to desperate lying as a last resort. -Yet still the sweetness lingered, keeping her serene, like the last -scent of a passed garden or the last light upon darkening hills. - -She smoothed her hands on the arms of the precious chair, and reached -out and smoothed the satin of the table. Through the dimness the solid -piano loomed, the rosewood coffin of a thousand songs. The carpet under -her feet felt elastic yet softly deep. There were ornaments in the -room, good stuff as well as trash, trifles pointing the passions of -Eliza's curious soul. But for once, after all these years, Eliza's soul -would be sorrowful in spite of her great possessions. Back in the -kitchen she would be gritting her teeth on the fact that it was Sarah's -son who was coming home, coming with money to burn and a great and -splendid will to burn it. She would exact payment, of course, when the -truth was known, but even the last ounce of payment could not give her -back this hour. For this hour, at least, it was hers to suffer and -Sarah's to reign. For this hour, at least, the heavily-weighted tables -of destiny were turned. - - - - - VI - - -That which had been the terrible Eliza sat still for a long moment after -Sarah had gone out. There was silence about the table until Elliman -Wilkinson took upon himself to speak. - -"But Jim's never your son, Cousin Eliza?" he exclaimed, puzzled, rushing -in where not only angels would have feared to tread, but where the -opposite host also would have taken care to keep their distance. "It's -very stupid of me, of course, but I've always made sure that -Geordie-an'-Jim were twins." - -Eliza turned baleful eyes upon the eager, inquisitive face. Her mind, -concentrated in sullen fury upon the enemy recently departed with -banners, found a difficulty in focussing itself upon this insignificant -shape. When it succeeded, however, she ground him into dust. - -"Ay, well, next time you feel sure of anything, you can make certain -you're dead wrong!" she told him cruelly, surveying his bland -countenance with cold contempt. "Jim's my eldest, if you want to know, -and as much the better o' Geordie as Blindbeck's the better o' yon -mudhole down on the marsh! He was always the smarter lad o' the -two,--'tisn't likely he'd ha' been left.... I'll lay what you like it's -Jim as is really coming, after all!" - -"But in that case you would surely have heard from him yourself?" -Elliman was still disporting himself with the brazen folly of innocence -upon the forbidden ground. "He'd have written to tell his mother, -surely,--not his aunt?" - -A distinct thrill of apprehension ran through the company at this -tactful speech. Mary Phyllis's nudge on this occasion was one of sharp -reproof. The clouds thickened on Eliza's brow. - -"Nay, then, he just wouldn't, Mr. Clever-Lad-Know-All, so that's that! -I'm his mother right enough, as nobody but a fool would ha' needed -telling, but he wouldn't ha' written me, all the same. Me and Jim got -across a while back, and he's taken sulks with me ever since. He'd be -like enough to write to Sarah, by way of giving me back a bit o' my own. -She always cockered him fearful, did Sarah, and set him agen me whenever -she could. And if there's brass about, as she says, she'll keep it warm -for him, never fear! She'll take right good care it never gets past her -to Blindbeck or any of his own!" - -"Jim would ha' been right enough but for Geordie all along." Mrs. -Addison shook a loose and agile bonnet with an impressive air. "He was a -right-down nuisance, was Geordie Thornthet,--a bad lad as well as a -reg'lar limb! Such tricks as he was up to, I'm sure,--turmut-lanterns -and the like, booin' at folks' winders after dark, and hiding behind -hedges when folk was courtin' about t'lanes! Stephen and me wasn't wed -then, you'll think on, and I mind a terble fright as Geordie give us one -summer night. Stephen was terble sweet on me, as you'll likely know, -though he'd choke himself black in the face afore he'd own to it now. -Well, yon night as I'm speaking of he had hold o' my hand, and was -looking as near like a dying duck in a thunderstorm as ever I see. -'Jenny Sophia,' he was saying, as sweet as a field of clover, 'I'm that -set on you, Jenny Sophia'--when up pops Geordie on t'far side o' the -hedge, girning and making a hullaballoo like a donkey afore rain!" - -"You've no call to go raking up yon d--d rubbish!" Mr. Addison burst -out, crimson to the hair, and quite forgetting the obligations of his -Christian mission. He had said the same thing to Eliza's eldest lass, -and much about the same time, and knew that Eliza knew it as well as he. -"Folks isn't right in their heads when they're courtin', as everybody -knows, and it's real mean to bring it agen 'em after all these years. -As for Geordie Thornthet, there was lile or nowt I could learn him, and -that's sure! T'lasses was always after him like bees at a bottle o' -rum." - -"Nay, now, you mean our Jim!" Jim's mother corrected him with an air of -offence. "Nobody never reckoned nowt o' Geordie but May Fleming. He -couldn't hold a candle to Jim, any day o' the week. Folk said they -couldn't tell 'em apart, but I never see a scrap o' likeness myself." -She glanced defiantly round the table, as if expecting opposition, and -then swung round eagerly as Sally reappeared. "Well, my lass, well?" she -rapped out,--"did she tell you anything more? You've taken your time -about coming back, I'm sure!" - -"Nay, she said nowt fresh," Sally answered evasively, without meeting -her eyes. She advanced to the table and began to gather the china -together, ready for clearing away. Her mother pushed back her chair -with an angry scrape. - -"Well, of all the gert, helpless gabies!" she exploded violently. "I -made sure she'd talk when she'd gitten you by herself. Didn't she say -when letter come, or how much brass there was, or owt? ... Eh, well, -it's never Geordie as made it, that I'll swear!" - -"She said it was Geordie." Sally went on mechanically with her task, -collecting cups and plates from under the noses of the still-stupefied -clan. "It's real nice, anyway, to see somebody happy," she added -suddenly, raising her eyes to look at the smug cousin. Elliman met them -unexpectedly and coloured furiously. On a sudden remorseful impulse he -shuffled a couple of plates together, and handed them to her with a -deprecating air. - -"I can't say she looked very set up about it, anyhow!" Eliza sneered. -"What, she was even more glumpy than usual, seemed to me!" - -"More like a burying than a home-coming, by a deal!" Mary Phyllis -finished for her, with a scornful laugh. - -"As for Uncle Simon, he was as cross as a pair of shears!" Emily Marion -added in a fretted tone. The Thornthwaites were making things awkward -to-day for the bride-to-be. Simon had nearly queered the engagement at -the start, and now the company's interest was all for a Thornthwaite -whom she had never seen. - -"Not how _I_ should take good news, certainly!" Elliman said, hoping -that no one had noticed his menial act. "I should have something more -to say for myself, I hope, than that." - -Eliza's eyes brightened considerably at this unanimous point of view. - -"Nay, you're right there," she took them up eagerly, "you're right -enough! 'Tisn't natural to be so quiet. I'll tell you what it is," she -added impressively, "it's one o' two things, that's all. It's either a -lie from beginning to end, or else--or else--well, it's our Jim!" She -pushed her chair further still, and got hurriedly to her feet. "Ay, -well, whichever it is, I'd best see for myself," she added quickly. -"You'll not mind me leaving you, Mrs. Addison, just for a little while? -I don't know as we're doing right to leave Sarah so long alone. She's -getting a bit of an old body now, you know, and she was never that -strong in her poor head." - -She departed noisily after this surprisingly sympathetic speech, and -Sarah, hearing her heavy step along the passage, chuckled for the last -time. Her mind braced itself for the coming contest with a grim -excitement that was almost joy. Nothing could have been more unlike her -attitude of the morning in the inn-yard. She lay back in her chair -again and closed her eyes, and was rocking peacefully when Eliza opened -the door. - -Just for the moment the sight of the tranquil figure gave her pause, but -neither sleep nor its greater Counterpart could still Eliza for very -long. "Feeling more like yourself, are you, Sarah?" she enquired -cautiously, peering in, and then repeated the question when she got no -answer. Finally, irritated by the other's immobility which was -obviously not sleep, she entered the room heavily, shutting the door -with a sharp click. "There's nowt amiss, from the look of you," she -added loudly, as she advanced. - -Sarah exclaimed, "Eh now, whatever's yon!" at the sound of the harsh -voice, and sat up stiffly, winking her blind eyes. She even turned her -head and blinked behind, as if she thought the voice had come out of the -grandfather's clock. "Nay, I'll do now, thank ye," she answered -politely, discovering Eliza's whereabouts with a show of surprise. -"It'll be about time we were thinking of getting off." - -Eliza, however, had no intention of parting with her just yet. She -stopped her hastily when she tried to rise. - -"Nay, now, there isn't that much hurry, is there?" she demanded sharply. -"Yon old horse o' yourn'll barely have stretched his legs. Your master -and mine'd have a deal to say to each other an' all." She paused a -moment, creaking from foot to foot, and staring irresolutely at the -mask-like face. "You talked a deal o' stuff in t'other room, Sarah," -she broke out at last, "but I reckon you meant nowt by it, after all?" - -Sarah wanted to chuckle again, but was forced to deny herself the -pleasure. For appearance' sake she stiffened her back, and bristled a -little at Eliza's tone. - -"Ay, but I did!" she retorted briskly, her voice firm. "Whatever else -should I mean, I'd like to know?" - -The strong hope that had sprung in Eliza's heart died down again before -this brazen show. - -"You can't rightly know what you're saying, Sarah," she said coldly, -"you can't, indeed! Geordie coming after all these years,--nay, now, yon -isn't true!" - -"Ay, but it is, I tell ye,--true enough! True as yon Sunday fringe o' -yourn as you bought in Witham!" - -"And wi' brass, you said?" Eliza let the flippant remark pass without -notice, and Sarah nodded. "A deal o' brass?" - -"Yon's what he says." - -"Eh, well, I never did!" The angry wind of her sigh passed over Sarah's -head and rustled the honesty in a vase behind. She repeated "I never -did!" and creaked away from the enemy towards the window. Behind her, -Geordie's mother allowed the ghost of a smile to find a fleeting -resting-place on her lips. - -"And so he's on his road home, is he,--coming right back?" Mrs. Will -kept her back turned, thinking hard as she spoke. There was no section -of Sarah's statement but she intended to prove by the inch. "Ay, well, -it's what they mostly do when they've made their brass." - -"He'll be over here, I reckon, afore you can say knife! Taking first -boat, he says he is, or the fastest he can find." She turned her head -towards the door through which his voice had come in the dream. "What, -I shouldn't be that surprised if he was to open yon door now!" - -There was such conviction in her tone that Eliza, too, was startled into -turning her head. There was nothing to see, of course, and she turned -back, but her ears still thrilled with the thrill in Sarah's voice. The -cowman, passing, saw her face behind the glass, and said to himself that -the missis was out for trouble once again. - -She was silent for a while, trying vainly to grapple the situation in -the pause. She saw well enough that there was nothing to be gained by -dispute if the story were true. She still looked to be top-dog in that -or any other case, because Blindbeck pride was founded on solid -Blindbeck gold; but there was no denying that the enemy would lie in a -totally different position, and would have to be met on totally -different ground. If, on the other hand, the great statement was a lie, -there would be plenty of time for vengeance when the facts were known. -Her malicious soul argued that the real game was to give Sarah plenty of -rope, but her evil temper stood in the way of the more subtle method. -It got the upper hand of her at last, and she flung round with an angry -swing. - -"Nay, then, I can't believe it!" she exclaimed passionately,--"I just -can't! It's a pack o' lies, that's what it is, Sarah,--a gert string o' -senseless lies!" - -This coarse description of her effort hurt Sarah in her artistic pride. -She stiffened still further. - -"I reckoned you'd take it like that," she replied in a dignified tone. -"'Tisn't decent nor Christian, but it's terble nat'ral." - -"I don't see how you could look for folks to take it different!" Eliza -cried. "'Tisn't a likely sort o' story, any way round. Ne'er-do-weels -don't make their fortunes every day o' the week, and your Geordie was a -wastrel, if ever there was one yet. You don't look like good news, -neither, come to that. They've just been saying so in t'other room." - -"Good news wants a bit o' getting used to," Sarah said quietly, "same as -everything else. When you've never had no luck for years and years you -don't seem at first as if you could rightly take it in." - -"More particular when you're making it up out o' your own head!" Eliza -scoffed, but growing more and more unwillingly convinced. "Nay, now, -Sarah!" she added impatiently, her hands twitching,--"what d'ye think -ye're at? What about all yon talk o' giving up the farm? No need for -such a to-do if Geordie's coming home!" - -For the first time, though only just for a second, Sarah quailed. For -the first time she had a glimpse of the maze in which she had set her -feet, and longed sharply for her physical sight as if it would help her -mental vision. But her brain was still quick with the power of the -dream, and it rose easily to the sudden need. "It's like this, d'ye -see," she announced firmly. "Simon knows nowt about it yet. I didn't -mean telling him till we'd gitten back." - -Eliza had followed the explanation with lowering brows, but now she -burst into one of her great laughs. - -"Losh, Sarah, woman! but I'd have a better tale than that! What, you'd -never ha' let him give in his notice, and you wi' your tongue in your -cheek all the time! ... When did you get yon precious letter o' yours?" -she enquired swiftly, switching on to another track. - -"Just last minute this morning as we was starting off." Sarah was -thoroughly launched now on her wild career. Each detail as she required -it rose triumphantly to her lips. "Simon was back in t'stable wi' -t'horse when postman come, so I put it away in my pocket and settled to -say nowt. I thought it was likely axing for money or summat like that, -and Simon had more than enough to bother him as it was. I got May -Fleming to read it for me at doctor's," she finished simply, with a -supreme touch. "I'm terble bad wi' my eyes, Eliza, if you'll trouble to -think on." - -Once again Eliza was forced to belief against her will, and then once -again she leaped at the only discrepancy in the tale. - -"You could ha' tellt Simon easy enough on the road out!" she threw at -her in a swift taunt. "There's time for a deal o' telling at your rate -o' speed!" - -But now, to her vexed surprise, it was Sarah who laughed, and with a -society smoothness that would have been hard to beat. It was in matters -like these that the dream lifted her into another sphere, puzzling her -clumsy antagonist by the finer air she seemed to breathe. - -"Eh, now, Eliza!" she said good-humouredly, and with something almost -like kindliness in her voice, "whatever-like use is it telling a man owt -when he's chock full o' summat else? Simon was fit to crack himself -over some joke as he'd heard in Witham, talking a deal o' nonsense and -laughing fit to shake the trap! Coming from market's no time any day -for telling a man important news, and anyway I'd never ha' got a word in -edgeways if I'd tried." She paused a moment, and then continued, -aspiring to still greater heights. "I'd another reason an' all for -wanting it kept quiet. I knew he'd be sure an' certain to go shouting -it out here." - -"Ay, and why ever not, I'd like to know!" Eliza gasped, when she was -able to speak. "Come to that, you were smart enough shoving it down our -throats yourself!" - -"Ay, but that was because I lost my temper," Sarah admitted, with a -noble simplicity which again struck the other dumb. "If I hadn't ha' -lost my temper," she added, "I should ha' said nowt,--_nowt!_"--a -statement so perfectly true in itself that it needed nothing to make it -tell. "I never meant you should hear it so sudden-like," she went on -gently, the kindness growing in her voice. "It's hard lines our Geordie -should ha' done so well for himself, and not your Jim. I never meant to -crow over you about it, Eliza,--I didn't, indeed. I never thought o' -such a thing!" - -Eliza was making a noise like a motor-car trying to start, but Sarah -took up her tale before she could reply. - -"As for letting Simon give in his notice as we'd fixed, I don't know as -it'll make that much differ, after all. There's my eyes, for one thing, -as I mentioned before. Blind folk is only a nuisance wherever they be, -but they're a real, right-down nuisance on a farm. And Geordie'll want -more nor a farm, I reckon, wi' all yon brass to splash. He'll want -summat wi' stables and gardens and happen fishing an' all,--a grand -gentleman's spot, likely, same as the Hall itself." - -Mrs. Will felt the world wheeling rapidly about her, and tried to clutch -at it as it went. Her temples throbbed and her throat worked, and her -staring eyes went blind. She groped her way to the window, and flung up -the stiff sash; and, as she stood there, drawing panting breaths, Simon -and Will came sauntering through the yard. Her eyes, clearing again in -the rush of air, caught the incipient smile on Simon's face, the new -signs of interest and life in his whole look. He could know nothing -about the great news, if what Sarah said was true; the utmost that he -could do was to sense it in the air. But his look of subtle contentment -was a sufficient annoyance in itself. It was the last straw, indeed, -which broke the back of Eliza's self-control. When she turned again her -words and her breath came with the leap of a mountain stream. - -"I wonder you're not afraid, Sarah Thornthet, to be setting there -reeling off lies like hanks o' cotton off a bobbin! Happen you're just -thinking you'll get a rise out o' me and mine, but if that's the best -you can do by way of a joke, well, I think nowt on't, and so I tell you! -Geordie coming home wi' brass! Geordie wanting the Hall and suchlike! -Nay, Sarah, I might ha' believed the rest wi' a bit o' pulling and -pushing, but yon last's taking it over far. Why, I'd as lief believe he -was going to get the King's Crown right out, wi' mappen Witham Town Hall -for a spot to live in! As for thinking o' me and my feelings and -suchlike stuff, you've never troubled that much about 'em to start -bothering now. There's only two ways about it, Sarah, and I reckon I -know which it is. It's either a smart lie you've been telling from end -to end, or else it's never Geordie that's coming, but our Jim!" - -She choked when she came to the last words, both from sudden -nervousness, and lack of breath, and again Sarah gave her well-bred -laugh. - -"I wouldn't be as hard o' faith as you, Eliza," she said placidly,--"not -for a deal! It's you, not me, would have heard if Jim was coming home. -What's Jim to do wi' me?" - -"He'd a deal to do wi' you when he was in England, as everybody knows! -Nay, you hated the sight o' him,--that's true enough,--but you were -right keen on trying to set him agen me, all the same. What, the last -letter I had from him,--and terble saucy an' all,--was blacking me over -summat I'd said of you as his lordship didn't like! Nay, if he come -home, Sarah, he'd come to you, not me, and right glad you'd be to have -him while he'd a penny before his teeth! Ay, and why shouldn't our lad -ha' done as well as yours, and happen better, come to that? He was the -smarter lad o' the two, and come o' smarter folk,--ay, but he did now, -Sarah, so you'll kindly shut your mouth! You've only to look at the way -we've done at Blindbeck, me and Will, and then at the mess o' things -you've made at yon pig-hull on the marsh! It stands to reason our lad -would be the likely one to make out, just as it isn't in reason to -expect owt from yours!" - -She came a step nearer as she finished, twisting her plump hands, her -voice, as it mounted higher, full of bewilderment and angry tears. - -"Will you swear to it Jim isn't coming, Sarah?" she demanded,--"will you -swear? Will you swear as it isn't my lad that's coming and not yours?" - -Sarah said, "Ay, I will that!" in a hearty tone, and with such absolute -readiness that Eliza bit her lip. "If you've a Bible anywhere handy," -she went on tranquilly, "I'll swear to it right off." - -But already Eliza had drawn back in order to follow a fresh trail. -Quite suddenly she had perceived the only means of getting at the truth. - -"Nay, I'll not trouble you," she sneered. "'Tisn't worth it, after all. -I shouldn't like our grand Family Bible to turn yeller wi' false -swearing! Geordie's letter'll be proof enough, Sarah, now I come to -think on. I'll believe owt about Halls and suchlike, if you'll show me -that!" - -She came a step nearer still, holding out her hand, and instantly -Sarah's lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. She might have had a -dozen sacred letters about her, from the look of her, at that moment. -It might have been Geordie's face itself that she guarded from the touch -of Eliza's hands. - -"Ay, I'd be like to show you his letter, wouldn't I?" she answered, with -a wicked smile. "You and me have been such terble friends all these -years,--I'd be like to show you owt from my bonny lad! Nay, Eliza, you -know I'd shove it in t'fire unread, afore I'd let you as much as clap -eyes on a single word!" - -Eliza wheeled away from her with an angry oath, and began to walk to and -fro, setting the loose planks jumping and creaking under her feet, and -the china rattling and clinking on the shelves. Her hands worked in and -out of each other with convulsive movements, and now and then she flung -out her heavy arms. She was working herself into one of those storms -which the folk at the farm knew only too well, but Sarah, who was the -cause of it, did not seem to care. She, too, however, was breathing -faster than before, and a faint colour had stayed in her waxen cheek. -She still felt as if, in that last bout, she had protected something -vital from Eliza's hands. - -"I'll be bound it's Jim!" Eliza was saying senselessly, over and over -again. "I'll swear it's Jim!" ... It was like a giant's voice, Sarah -thought to herself, the voice of a cruel, clumsy giant-child. "You're -telling a lie, Sarah,--a nasty lie! You're jealous, that's what it -is,--jealous and mean! _Geordie_ wi' brass? Not likely! ... Nay, it's -Jim!" - -"It's plain enough it's the brass you're after and nowt else," Sarah -said in her cool tones. "You'd have no use for the poor lad if he come -back without a cent!" - -But even while the words were on her lips, Eliza, creaking to and fro, -was brought to a sudden halt. The thing that held her was a photograph -of Jim, catching her eye in its frame of crimson plush. If he had been -older when it was taken, it would have been banished long ago, but here -he was only a mischievous baby, struggling in his mother's arms. Eliza -stared at it as she stood in front of the mantelpiece, and quite -suddenly she began to cry. The tears poured down her face, and her -hands trembled and her body shook. Into the brutal voice came a note at -which Sarah, unable to trace the cause, yet quivered in every nerve. - -"Nay, then, Sarah, you're wrong, Sarah, you're dead wrong! I'd be glad -to see him just for himself, I would that! He's been nowt but a trouble -and disappointment all his life, but I'd be glad to see him, all the -same." She put out the plump fingers which Sarah loathed, and drew them -caressingly over the baby face. "I can't do wi' failures," she added -brokenly; "they make me wild; and Jim was the only failure Blindbeck -ever hatched. But for all that he was the bonniest baby of the lot, and -there's times I never remember nowt but that. There's days I just ache -for the sound of his voice, and fair break my heart to think he'll never -come back." - -There was no doubting the sincerity of her grief, and the big sobs -shaking their way through her shook Sarah, too. Her own lips trembled, -and her eyes filled; her hands quivered on the arms of the chair. She -could not see the pitiful fingers stroking the child's face, but she who -had offered that worship herself needed little help to guess. She had -her revenge in full as she sat and listened to the passion that never -dies, forcing its way upward even through Eliza's leathern soul; but the -revenge was a two-edged sword that wounded herself as well. All the -generosity in her that was still alive and kind would have sprung to the -surface instantly if the story had been true. She would have groped her -way to Eliza's side in an effort to console, and perhaps the lifelong -enemies might have drawn together for once. But the story was not true, -and she had nothing to offer and no right of any sort to speak. She -could only sit where she was and suffer and shake, hating herself more -in this moment of absolute conquest than she had ever hated Eliza in her -darkest hour. - -But, as a matter of fact, Eliza's grief would have passed before she -could even have tottered to her feet. Her own lips were still shaking -when Eliza's had hardened again; her own eyes were still wet when -Eliza's were dry with hate. The passion which for a brief moment had -been selfless and sincere was turned once again into the channel of -jealous rage. She swung round so swiftly that her sleeve caught the -little frame, and it fell forward unnoticed with a sharp tinkle of -broken glass. - -"There's summat wrong about it all," she cried venomously, "and I'll not -rest till I find out what it is! What's Geordie mean by landing up so -smart, and leaving our Jim a thousand mile behind? It's a nasty sort o' -trick, if it's nothing worse, seeing how they were thick as thieves as -lads. I'll tell you what it is, Sarah, and you may swallow it as you -can,--if Geordie's gitten brass, it's because he's robbed it off our -Jim! Like enough he's put an end to him for it, the poor, honest -lad--knifed him ... finished him ... put him out o' the road...!" - -The fierce malice of the voice penetrated into the passage, and carried -its message into the kitchen and the yard. Will and Simon heard it at -the stable door and looked at each other and turned instantly towards -the house. Passing the parlour window, they saw the women rigid on -their feet, and felt the current of hate sweep strongly across their -path. They had a glimpse of Sarah's face, white, blind and quiet: and -Eliza's, vindictive, purple, and bathed with furious tears. Her heavy -tone beat at the other's immobility as if with actual blows, and the -glass in the cabinet rang and rang in sweet reply. Will quickened his -pace as he neared the house, for he knew that Eliza did not always stop -at words. Indeed, her hands were reaching out towards Sarah's throat at -the very moment he stepped inside. - -"Whisht, can't ye, Eliza!" he ordered roughly, his voice harsh with the -swift reaction from the little space of content through which he and his -brother had just passed. "What's taken you, missis, to be going on like -yon?" - -He was now in the parlour, with Simon at his heels, while the company -from the kitchen clustered round the door. Peering into the tiny arena -round each other's heads, they giggled and whispered, curious and -alarmed. Sarah could hear them stirring and gurgling just beyond her -sight, and felt their rapacious glances fastened upon her face. Sally -tried to push her way through to her aunt's side, but was stopped by the -solid figure of Elliman, set in the very front. The lads had forsaken -the milking to run to the window and peep in, and a dog lifted its -bright head and planted its forefeet on the sill. All the life of the -place seemed drawn to this little room, where at last the women were -fighting things out to the very death. - -"What's amiss, d'ye say?" Eliza echoed his speech. "Nay, what isn't -amiss! Here's Sarah has it her Geordie's a-coming home, but never a -word as I can hear about our Jim!" - -The eyes of the brothers met in a startled glance, and the red came -painfully into Simon's face. Before they could speak, however, Eliza -swept their intention from them like a western gale. - -"What's come to Jim, I want to know? Why isn't it our Jim? Geordie's -made his pile, so Sarah says, but I can't hear of a pile for Jim. He's -dead, that's what it is! ... Geordie's finished him, I'll swear! He's -robbed him! ... knifed him! ... given him a shove in t'beck...!" - -Again she made that threatening movement towards Sarah's throat, but -Will put out his hand and caught her by the wrist. Both the giggles and -whispers had died a sudden death, and the lads at the window pressed -nearer and looked scared. Sally succeeded at last in forcing her way -through, careless that Elliman suffered severely as she passed. - -"For goodness' sake, stop it, mother!" she cried sharply. "You're fair -daft! Can't you wait to make a stir till Geordie's landed back? He'll -tell us right enough then what's happened to our Jim." - -"He'll tell us nowt--nowt----!" Eliza began again on a high note, but -Simon threw up his hand with a sudden snarl. - -"Whisht, can't ye! You fair deafen a body, Eliza!" he flung out. -"What's all this stir about Geordie coming back?" - -"It's a lie, that's what it is!" Eliza exploded again, and again he -silenced her with an angry "Whisht!" He kept his eyes on her a moment -longer, as if daring her to speak, and then let them travel slowly and -almost reluctantly to his wife's face. He opened his lips to address -her and then changed his mind, turning instead to the crew beyond the -door. - -"Tell me about it, can't you?" he demanded angrily. "One o' you speak -up! Emily Marion--Addison--you wi' the fat face!" He jerked a -contemptuous thumb at Elliman, who went crimson with extreme disgust. -"One o' you tell me the meaning o' this precious hullaballoo!" - -Elliman looked across to Sally for help, but did not get it. Instead, -she turned her eyes away, ignoring his appeal. - -"It's hardly my place to enlighten you, sir," he said, with an offended -shrug, "but I don't mind telling you the little I know. Apparently your -son Geordie is expected soon, and with a fat purse in his pocket to buy -him a welcome home." - -"Geordie's coming back, d'ye say?" Simon stared at him with bewildered -eyes. - -"So Mrs. Thornthwaite has given us to understand." - -"And wi' brass? Plenty o' brass? _Geordie_ wi' brass?" - -"Enough and to spare, if all we're told is true." - -"Ay, but that's just what it isn't!" Eliza broke out on a peacock -scream, and this time Will actually shook her into silence. The -poignancy of the moment had hushed the rest of the audience into -complete quiet. There was no sound in the room but Eliza's breathing as -Simon turned again to look at his wife. - -"What's it all about, Sarah?" he asked quietly, though his voice shook. -"You never said nowt about Geordie coming to me." - -In the pause that followed Sally drew away from her aunt's side, as if -conscious that this moment was for the two of them alone. The silence -waited for Sarah's answer, but she could not bring herself to speak. In -the heat of her victory she had forgotten that Simon also would hear the -lying tale. It was the only hitch in the splendid machinery of the lie, -but it was enough in itself to bring the whole of it to the ground. -Here was Simon in front of her, asking for the truth, and if a hundred -Elizas had been present she could still have given him nothing but the -truth. But indeed, at that moment, Eliza, and all that Eliza stood for, -was swept away. In that hush and sudden confronting of souls Sarah and -Simon were indeed alone. - -"Geordie's never coming, is he, Sarah?" he asked anxiously. "Nay, -you've dreamed it, my lass! And he's rich, d'ye say?--why, that settles -it right out! Why, it was nobbut the other day he was writing home for -brass!" - -Still she did not speak, and quite suddenly he was wroth, vexed by her -mask-like face and the sudden diminishing of his hope. - -"Losh, woman!" he cried angrily. "You look half daft! Is yon lad of -ours coming, or is he not? Is it truth you're telling me, or a pack o' -lies?" - -She stirred then, moved by the cheated sound in his angry voice. She -gave a sigh. The fooling of Eliza had been utterly great and glorious, -but it had come to an end. "It was just lies," she heard herself saying -in a passionless tone, and then with a last twinge of regret, she sighed -again. - -Eliza's scream of "I knew it! I knew it!" merged in the chorus of -exclamation from the group about the door. Will said nothing, fixing -his sister-in-law with his kindly gaze, but Simon fell back muttering, -and staring as if afraid. He wondered, looking at her unemotional face, -whether the trouble about her eyes was beginning to touch her brain. -She herself had said there was no knowing what blind weather might -possibly do, no telling what a blind body's brain might someday suddenly -breed.... - -He came back to the consciousness of Eliza's voice as a man from the -dead hears the roar of life as he returns. - -"I wonder you're not struck down where you stand, Sarah Thornthet! I -wonder you're not liggin' dead on t'floor! But you'll be punished for -it, right enough; you'll be paid for it, never fear! You'll see, -summat'll happen to you afore so long,--I shouldn't wonder if it -happened before morn! Like enough, the next news as we have o' -Geordie'll be as he's dead or drowned.... I'll serve you a slap on -t'lugs, Will, if you can't shape to let me be!" - -It was Sally who saved the situation for the second time that day. - -"Fetch the trap, Uncle Simon, and look sharp about it!" she commanded -smartly, "and you come and set down, Aunt Sarah, until it's round. Let -her be, can't you!" she added roughly, flinging round on her mother. -"She's that tired and put out she don't know what's she's at." - -She shook her fist at the window, and the faces disappeared like morning -frost. Then she turned on the others and ordered them out, too. - -"You'd best be getting about your business!" she commanded them, hand on -hip. "You should be in t'dairy this minute, Mary Phyllis,--you know -that as well as me. I'd think shame o' myself, Mr. and Mrs. Addison, to -be helping other folks' wi' their weekly wash! Same to you, Elliman -Wilkinson, and a bit over, come to that! You're not one o' the family -yet by a long chalk, my lad; nay, nor like to be, neither, if you don't -see to mend your ways!" - -Eliza still lingered, however, loth that anything should be left unsaid, -but Sally ushered her resolutely to the door. She protested to the last -inch, and the hand that had been denied judgment on Sarah flew up and -slapped Sally's face. The girl looked at her with scornful eyes. - -"Ay, you can't keep your hands off folk, can you?" she said bitterly. -"You never could. I remember Jim saying he fair hated you for it when we -were bairns. That was why he always liked Aunt Sarah a deal better than -he liked you!" - -"You'll find other folk free wi' their hands," Eliza stormed, "if you're -that free wi' your impident tongue! Yon fool of an Elliman'll stand no -nonsense, for all he looks so new-milk soft! Not that he wants any -truck wi' you at all, as far as I can see. It's Mary Phyllis he can't -take his eyes off, and no wonder, neither. She was always a sight -better-looking than you, and she's younger, by a deal. You're that old -and teptious you fair turn the cream sour just by being along wi't in -t'house! Nay, I reckon you can put wedding and suchlike out o' your -head as soon as you like! _You'll_ never have a house of your own, or a -man to put in it; and as for bairns o' your own to slap, why, you'll -never have none o' _them_...!" - -She said the rest to the closed door, a stout, oaken door which even she -was reluctant to attack. In the few pauses that she allowed herself she -could hear nothing inside the room, and presently, tiring of the -one-sided contest, she waddled heavily away along the passage. She was -in the dairy a minute later, and saw through the window the brothers -yoking the old horse. Through the window, too, she caught scraps of -their talk, and strained her ears eagerly to catch its bent. As if by -magic the anger left her face, and a little smile grew happily on her -lips. She even hummed a little tune to herself, as she watched and -listened, leaning against the frame.... - -The silence persisted in the room that she had left, as if the air was -so laden with words that it would hold no more. Sarah groped her way to -the rocking-chair and sat down again to wait. Sally went to the window, -and stared miserably into the yard. So they waited together until they -heard the rattle of the wheels along the stones.... - - - - - VII - - -Even now, however, the Blindbeck comedy was not quite played out. Eliza -had still to give it its finishing touch. The lately routed audience -must have been conscious of this, for they assembled again in order to -watch the Thornthwaites take their leave. As a rule, the Simons simply -faded away, unperceived and unsped of anybody but Will. They were not -welcome when they came, and they were not lamented when they went away. -But to-day Sarah had managed to touch the imagination of the crowd, -arousing unwilling admiration and even respect. The Addisons, for -instance, though outwardly badly shocked, rejoiced by proxy in a crime -which they would never have had the courage to commit themselves. Even -Elliman was heard to remark that Sarah's psychology seemed possibly -worthy of study, after all. The main motive with all, however, was a -sneaking hope that, on some ground or another, the opponents might go -for each other again. - -As if by accident, therefore, they drifted out of the house, and on -Sarah's appearance were to be found sitting on rails or pig-sty walls, -or leaning in graceful attitudes against the porch. Sarah could not see -them, but Simon could, and divided a scowl of dislike amongst the lot. -The Thornthwaites were actually settled in the trap when Eliza came -bustling after them into the yard. - -It was such a different Eliza, however, that at first it looked as if -the audience were to be cheated of their scene. The virulent harridan -of ten minutes ago had vanished as if she had never been. This Eliza -was hearty, smiling, serene, the smooth-faced, smooth-tongued mocker -which Sarah detested most. Even her hair and dress, lately dishevelled -by rage, were now as tidy and sleek as the fur of a well-brushed cat. -She came to a halt close beside the wheel, and Sarah started when she -heard her speak. - -"So you're off, are you, Sarah? Ay, well, you'll be best at home! I -reckon our Sally's right, and you're not yourself at all. Mind and see -doctor again, first thing as ever you can. It's a bad sign, they say, to -go making up fancy tales. Folks as get telling lies is framing for -softening of the brain." - -Will looked back with a frown as he hurried on to open the gate. - -"We've had enough o' that, missis!" he called sharply. "Just you let -Sarah be!" - -Mrs. Will tossed her head, but managed to preserve her compassionate -air. - -"Losh, master!" she reproached him loudly. "You've no call to speak so -sharp. I'm meaning kindly enough by poor Sarah here, I'm sure! She's -welcome to tell lies till they turn her black in the face, but it isn't -healthy for her, all the same. I shouldn't like to see poor Sarah in -Garland's Asylum, or some such spot as yon. Ay, well, we'll be having -her close at hand afore so long, and then we can do our best for her -ourselves!" - -Sarah started a second time when she said that, and the pig-sty audience -brightened and pricked its ears. Simon muttered an oath and pulled at -the horse until it sidled and backed, forcing the subtle tormentor to -retreat. - -"You stand back, missis," he cried angrily, waving a threatening whip, -"and take your long tongue with you, or it'll be tripping us in t'road!" - -There was a burst of laughter at this show of wit, and Eliza flared -instantly into open war. She raised her voice after the departing pair, -stepping back heavily upon Elliman's feet. - -"You'll have to speak different from that, Mr. Thornthet," she called -shrilly, "if you're coming to Blindbeck to act as our hired man!" - -The laughter broke out again, and then stopped, cut short. Simon, red -to the ears, raised the whip violently above the horse's back, but it -was checked before it descended by Sarah's outstretched hand. - -"Bide a minute, Simon," she said quietly. "Just hold on. What's Eliza -meaning to say by that?" - -Simon looked helplessly about him, noting the interested gaping faces on -all sides. "Ax me on t'road," he said desperately, yearning to get -away. "It's time we were getting on, missis. Ax me on t'road!" - -"Nay, ax him now, and ha' done wi' it, Sarah!" Eliza jeered, advancing -again. "Or ax me if you want, and I'll tell you mighty sharp! Likely -you've been wondering what's to come o' you when you leave the farm? -Ay, well, our cowman's job is going begging at present, and I hear your -master's thinking o' taking it on." - -There was a pause after that, in which even the pig-sty audience was -hushed as mice, and the fretting horse itself was suddenly still. Those -nearest to Sarah heard her give a sigh, the same little sigh with which -she had loosed her hold on the Parlour Dream. The next moment Simon had -thankfully eased the reins, and the trap went creaking and jolting out -of the still yard.... - -Eliza watched it triumphantly until the very last, and then, bursting -into a laugh, turned expectantly for applause. But for once her usually -appreciative audience failed her of her due. They avoided her eyes and -looked at their boots, or leaned over the pig-sty walls and pretended a -passionate interest in the pigs. The Addisons, in whom Christian -charity was apt to rise and fall like a turned-on jet, murmured tepid -thanks for their entertainment, and hurried away. Even the smug cousin -refused to play up to Eliza for once, partly because of a latent -fineness of feeling which she had hurt, but chiefly because she had -trodden on his toes. Turning his back determinedly upon Mary Phyllis, he -bent to whisper something in Sally's ear. She hesitated a moment, -lifting her eyes to his sobered face, and then followed him slowly -towards the track across the fields. - - - - - VIII - - -Outside the farmyard wall Sarah again put out a hand to Simon's arm. -"Yon's Taylor's spot, isn't it?" she enquired, as the cottage came up. -"Just hold on a minute, and let me see." - -He obeyed, watching her nervously as she bent and peered at the house, -and wondering uneasily what she was about. She knew the house well -enough, both inside and out, so she could not be stopping to look at it -just for that. She must be trying to form some impression of it that was -wholly new, perhaps picturing it as it would be when she had come to -live in it herself. - -When he found that she did not speak, he began to offer clipped remarks, -anxiously pointing out objects that she was quite unable to see. - -"It's a good house, missis.... You'll remember it's a tidy spot. -There's a fairish garden for cabbishes and the like, and a bit of a -drying-ground as well. As for berry-bushes, there's gooseberry and -black currant and red ... and danged if there isn't a few rasps over at -far side wall an' all!" - -Sarah looked away from the house the moment he started to speak, as if -some spell were broken by the sound of his voice. "Ay," she said, with -a total lack of interest, and staring ahead.... "Now, master, we'd best -get on." - -Simon, cut off in mid-flight, repeated "Rasps!" in a feeble tone, and -again Sarah said "Ay," and requested him to get on. He drove away -rather reluctantly, looking behind him as he went, and muttering of -Taylor's rasps and cabbishes until they were finally lost to sight. - -Now once more they were in the high-flanked lane, with Blindbeck and all -that Blindbeck stood for fallen away at last. The cross went with them, -indeed, but the calvary dropped behind. The horse turned homeward, and, -encouraged by Will's corn, showed a sudden freakish revival of vanished -youth. Bicycles met and passed them in the narrow road, sliding by like -thistledown on a wind, while the riders saw only an elderly couple -apparently half asleep. Yet even the dullest farm-lad would have cried -aloud to them if he had known to what they went. He would have flung -himself off his bicycle and barred the road, a humble but valiant -imitation of an Angel of God. - -Evening was coming, but the day was still alive, incredibly long as the -afternoon had seemed. Simon's old watch, put right that morning in -Witham, asserted that it was only half-past four. The atmosphere had -never been really light, and only imperceptibly was it drawing down to -dusk. The grey seemed to have deepened and settled a little, but that -was all. It was a day on which people forgot the time, as Mr. Dent had -said, a day when they had every excuse for forgetting the right time. -Simon felt suddenly as though he had never seen the sun either rise or -set for at least a week. Yesterday there had been only a swift setting, -hurriedly blotted out, and to-day, if there had been any fugitive -brightness of farewell, it must have passed while they were still at the -farm. The night was coming unduly to the grey-green land which had -never had its meed of sun, just as the night came unfairly to lives -whose share of glamour and glory had been missed. He longed to see a -light spring out of the west, showing the silver water in a shining -line, and re-tinting the heavy, neutral-coloured earth. - -Sun,--evening sun lying over the sea,--would have made things easier for -both of them, but especially for his wife. Even though there was so -little that she could see, the warmth and light would at least have lain -tenderly upon her lids. Trouble and change were always easier to bear -under a smiling sky; it did not mock at the trouble, as smiling faces so -often seemed to do. Rain and the dark seemed to narrow a trouble in, so -that change was a nameless peril into which each step was into a void. -But there was to be no sun for these lost folk who seemed to be straying -all the day long; only the unstirred breath of the mist in the blotted -west, filling the mighty bowl at whose bottom lay the sea. - -They felt strange with each other, now that they were alone, because of -all that the other had done while the two of them were apart. Simon's -sudden decision was as inexplicable to his wife as her afternoon's jest -with Eliza had seemed to him. In his place she would never have stooped -to make of herself the younger brother's man; she would have worked for -the hardest driver amongst them sooner than that. Even the close -affection between the brothers could not dignify the position in her -eyes. She could understand something of Simon's yearning towards the -farm, but Sarah was never the sort of which they make doorkeepers in -Heaven. She would never really have understood the strength of the -pull, even with no Eliza set like a many-eyed monster on the farmyard -wall. He, on the other hand, could not even pretend to understand the -Lie, but then the Vision of the Parlour had been granted to her and not -to him. - -Both their minds, however, were at work more on the change that was -coming than on Sarah's sudden craze, since always the pressing business -of life must supersede the dream. Simon, indeed, did not want to think -about Sarah's behaviour further than he could help, because of that -sinister saying about the doings of blind brains. As for Sarah herself, -she had done with the dream for ever in that moment when she came face -to face with the limits of her lie. It had had its tremendous hour in -the down-treading of a lifelong foe, but in that one stupendous -achievement it had finally passed. Never again would she be able to shut -herself in the spell, until the blind saw and the lost spoke, and the -sea was crossed in a leap. Never again would she be able to believe -that Geordie might come home. - -In spite of their shameful departure, fast fading, however, from his -mind, Simon was already planning the bitter-sweet prospect of their near -return. Like so many ideas impossible and even repellent at the start, -this had already become natural and full of an acid charm. For the time -being he was content to ignore the drawbacks of the position, and to -concentrate only upon its obvious gains. His mind, hurrying forward -over the next few months, was already disposing of stock, -farm-implements and surplus household gear; and in his complete -absorption he forgot that he was not alone, and kept jerking out -fragments of disjointed speech. Sarah allowed him to amuse himself -after this fashion for some time, and then broke dryly into his current -of thought. - -"You may as well tell me what's settled, and get it by with," she -observed in a sardonic tone. "So far, even Eliza seems to know more -about it than me. You and Will seem to ha' fixed things up wi' a -vengeance, that you have! You'd best to tell me how it come about, -instead of booing away to yourself like a badly calf." - -"Nay, it was all fixed that sharp," Simon grumbled, with an injured air, -though very relieved at heart to hear her speak. "There was no time to -ax nobody nor nowt. I'm still a bit maiselt about it myself, for the -matter o' that. I don't know as I'll be that surprised if I hear -to-morrow it's all off. As for Eliza, it fair beats me how she could -ha' got wind of it so smart! She likely hid herself somewheres when we -was talking it out; though she's not that easy to miss,--gert, spying -toad!" - -He brisked considerably now that the first awkwardness was past, and -went on to tell her, after his usual backwards and forwards fashion, -exactly how the new arrangement had come about. - -"It's not much to crack on, I dare say," he finished, pleading with her -across the disapproving silence which had again risen between them like -a wall, "but, when all's said and done, it's a sight better than I'd -looked for, by a deal. I'd ha' been bound to hire myself somewheres, to -help us make out, and there isn't a decenter master in t'countryside -than Will. It's a deal better than being odd-job man at some one-horse -spot, or maybe scrattin' up weeds and suchlike at some private house. -There'll be a decent wage, think on, and milk,--ay, and happen a load o' -coal an' all. Will'll see as we're rightly done by, never fret! We'll -be right comfortable, I'm sure. Will says his lasses'll give you a hand -wi' washing and the like, and if happen we get a good sale we might run -to a bit o' help ourselves. You'll miss t'horse and cart, I reckon, but -we'll find a way out o' yon as well. If you felt as you fancied a bit -of a ride, Will'd like enough loan me a horse and trap." - -He was coaxing her for all he was worth, but neither the coaxing nor the -explanation seemed to get any further than her ears. Again he felt the -spasm of irritation which he had felt in the parlour, and was at the -same time reminded of its original cause. - -"I don't say it'll be over pleasant for either on us," he went on -vexedly, as she did not open her lips, "but you'll likely admit I did -the best I could for us, all the same. It's a sad pity you and Eliza -pull together so bad, but it's over late to think o' mending it now. -Anyway, you did nowt to mend it by telling yon string o' lies this -afternoon! What, in the name o' goodness, made you act so strange?" - -She moved then, a touch of the afternoon glamour reaching from -Blindbeck, and following her down the lane. - -"Nay, I don't know.... Things come over folk, now and then. I'm right -sorry, though, if I set you thinking it was the lad." - -"I've given up thinking owt o' the sort long since," he said dejectedly. -"I should ha' thought you would ha' done the same an' all." - -"Things come over folk," she repeated, unwilling to say more, and he -nodded his head, relieved by her softer tone. "You'll try to make up -your mind to Blindbeck, will you, missis?" he pressed on nervously, -hoping her mood would last. "It's a bad best, maybe, but I nobbut did -what I could." - -She gave a sharp sigh, but her voice was firm. "Ay, I'll make up my -mind to it, after a bit." - -"It's a big change at our time of life, but you'll settle, never fear." - -"Ay, I'll settle all right. Don't you fret." - -"It's a good shop, Sarah." - -"Ay." - -"And Will's a right good sort." - -"Oh, ay." - -The sudden gentleness of her mood prompted him to a further unburdening -of his soul. He leaned forward a little in the trap, staring over the -grey fields, and with the note of pleading rising and falling in his -tone. - -"I don't mind telling you now, Sarah, but I've been fair fretted out o' -my senses all this while. There's been times I've felt like just making -off on t'sands, and letting tide settle it for me for good an' all. Ay, -and by Gox! it very near come about, too, one day when I was mooning -along and not looking where I was at! But there was you to see to, and -I couldn't rightly bring myself to chuck up the sponge. 'Tisn't as if -the lad was dead, neither,--there was that as well. He's as good as -dead, likely, but it's a different thing, all the same. Folks can get -along on a mighty little hope,--same as yon old horse as died just when -it was learning to live on nowt! We've come to a bonny pass, these -days, you and Geordie an' me, but the world isn't past bearing as long -as the three on us is over sod." - -It was with a sense of enlightenment and escape that they came out -finally on to the high road, for in the cleft of the lane every curve of -the land stole what little clarity was left to the slowly withdrawing -earth. Even Sarah was faintly conscious of lightened lids, as well as -of easier breathing as the borders of the road drew further apart. In -the lane they had been high, looming presences, over-close to the -lurching wheels, but now they ceased to oppress her, though she was -still aware that they marched with her as she went. It was as if the -furniture of the land was being withdrawn into the wings before the -curtain of night was really down; yet even in its slow departure it -still formed the picture and dominated the scene. The only real comfort -for brain and eyes was on the unfurnished marsh, where even the fenced -roads lifted themselves as often as not above their fences to look -abroad. - -There was more life, also, on the open road,--cycles and traps, and -people walking in twos and threes; motor-cars, too, at which Simon never -so much as glanced aside, though now they were really beginning to look -like ghosts in the sinking light. Even when there was nobody on the -road there was still the sense of being part of an unseen train, the -link which binds traveller to traveller on every principal highway in -the land, but especially on those which run north and south. The link -strengthens and the thrill deepens as the day lengthens and the hours go -on. Each wonders instinctively to what home the other is hastening -before he is overtaken by the dark. From each to each at the hour of -dusk passes the unconscious Godspeed uniting all who are drawing -together towards the adventure of the night. - -And, for Simon and Sarah, as for all, either man or beast, even in this -bitter hour, there was the comfort of the road that goes home. There is -always a lamp set high in the house to which one returns, even though it -be poor and empty and dark. The greatest sorrow awaiting one at the end -is not really a sorrow until one steps inside. The ease of the road -home is the ineffable ease of the mind. Stout hearts and limbs may -carry us out, and barely suffice to stagger us back, but the running and -leaping mind can comfort the body on. There is always a lamp set high -at the end of the road that is going home.... - -Not until they had lost it would they realise the perpetual consolation -of that long-accustomed road. Times without number they had travelled -it, seething with anger and hate, and yet always they were the richer -for having passed that way. Simon, busily thinking of Blindbeck and all -the advantages of the wealthy farm, did not know that he was putting his -real wealth from him with every thought. Yet he would know it all the -rest of his life when he drove a road that was not consecrated by the -years, when the folk that hailed them in passing were not part of a -lifelong chain; when the turns of the road were no longer pictures and -books, with each house where it should be and would be for all time; -when he stopped at a gate in the dusk and knew it was not his; when he -entered a meaningless building at last and knew it was not home.... - -But just for the moment he was thinking neither of the immediate present -nor of the greater part of his long-reaching past. His mind, unusually -stimulated by the day's events, swung easily to and fro between the -future at Blindbeck and the far-off boyhood which he had spent with -Will. Blindbeck had never been his home in any sense, but his call to -Blindbeck was nevertheless the call of the past. They would renew their -youth for each other, the two old men, and forget when they were -together that they were old. They turned instinctively to each other, -as all turn to those who can recreate for them the young beginnings of -their lives. On the marsh Simon always felt immeasurably old, weighted -as with an actual burden by the years. He saw himself looking behind -him at them as at monsters created in his pride, which now and for ever -were out of his control. With Will beside him, they would lie in front -as they used to do, rolling meadowlands still untouched by the plough of -time. Because they had been young together it would be impossible for -them to be really old. Because they had been young together they could -took smiling, shoulder to shoulder, into the unbelievable grave. - -Not that his longing had any such definite frame of thought as this, -though he was aware that in it had lain the motive which had fixed his -mind. He only moved towards its fulfilment as all untutored souls move -naturally towards release from strain. He scarcely remembered Sarah -after their talk had come to an end that was hardly an end, like an -unravelled cord of which no one troubles to count the untwisted strands. -That mighty leap which he was taking across the years carried him well -above both Sarah's and Geordie's heads. The school-years, the climbing, -running, hungry years were more distinct to him than the heavy, -responsible years of marriage and middle life. He saw himself and Will -running after the hounds, paddling in calm lakes of gold-shot evening -tides, skating by slowly rising moons. He saw a raw lad going shyly but -stolidly to his first place, already a man in the awed estimation of the -brother left behind. He heard the clink of the first money he had ever -earned, which had gone straight from his pocket into the family purse. -He had handed it over without a twinge of regret, and his empty hands -had continued to thrill with pride. Later, he had begged a couple of -shillings for himself and Will, and had never thought of the money then -or since but as a gift.... - -They came at last to the dangerous, right-angled turn which dropped them -down to the marsh, and as the horse began to jerk itself down the hill a -car passed slowly above them along the open road. Although the day -still lingered, the tail-light was already lit, as if the car were -setting out on a journey instead of going home. Yet it went slowly and -almost reluctantly, like a man who looks over his shoulder all the -while. It was as if it was only waiting its opportunity to turn itself -in its tracks. But all the time it was drifting gradually away, and the -red light, that could hardly as yet impress itself on the dusk, seemed -to hesitate for a moment at a curve of the road, and then, as if a hand -had been clapped in front of it, was suddenly gone. - -The drop from the highway was like being dropped from a cliff, so -distinct was the change to the loneliness of the marsh. The link was -broken which made them members of a purposed line, leaving them mere -strayed wanderers of whom nobody was aware. The few farmhouses, -lifeless-looking in the deadened light, stared always towards great -distances over their puny heads. The few trees sprang up before them, -suddenly strange, acquiring an almost violent personality against the -meaningless scene. - -The straight miles dragged reluctantly past their heavy wheels, and on -the unending road they seemed to go forward without purpose and to be -set on a journey that had no goal. When at length the stretches of -meadow and cropped land gave place to the pale-coloured desert of the -sand, there seemed no possible reason why one should cease and the other -begin. Away out behind the mist there was a living, moving tide, but -here on the marsh there was no consciousness of tide. Things just -stopped, that was all, and from the garden became the waste, just as the -growth and renewal of life had stopped for the old pair, leaving nothing -but desolation before their feet. - -Yet still the earth was with them, and Simon turned his eyes again and -again to its vague outlines with relief. Across the bay the cone of the -Knott still held to its tangibility and form, protesting against the -swamping hand of night. The crown of it, fitted with wood as closely as -with a cap, was darker against the sky than the shadowy slopes on which -the houses climbed. And, nearer inland still, on the low edge of shore -that was like a trail of smoke on the farther side of the sands, a blur -of formless yet purposeful grey showed where the tiny hamlet of Sandyeat -clustered about the 'Ship.' - -Sandholes was in sight now, and the horse quickened its pace, triumphing -over the last few wearisome yards. As they approached the house, with -its white face set on a body of looming buildings behind, they had as -always a mingled sensation of sadness and relief. Not that the place -was sad to them because of its dreary emptiness set amongst formless -fields. In the course of years it had become for them merely an -atmosphere, not a thing of sight. They were only depressed by it because -for them it was the heart of failure and loss. And in the same way they -were relieved by it, dignified, sanctuaried and consoled, because this -was their hiding-place against the world, and here the heart of their -few memories of joy. - -The house was dark, but they were accustomed to that, used to the door -that would not open, however they knocked, and the windows that for ever -would never frame a face, however they hailed. They were used to that -stumbling into the place in the folding dark, to the striking of a match -that brought them nothing but the dreary waiting rigidity of the things -they had left behind. They were used, too, to an uprising fear on the -struck light that some terrible change might have taken place in the -empty house; that even the waiting things might have played them false -while they were gone.... - -So lonely looked the place, that it seemed as if it might even revenge -itself upon those who had the temerity to awaken it during that sinking -hour, but, as they reached the gate, the old dog asleep in a loose box -aroused himself to a hoarse, recognising bark. The few cows, also, -waiting to be fed, sent out deep complaints at the sound of the coming -wheels. And as they finally rattled into the uneven yard, a woman's -figure stood up and waved to them from the sea-wall. - - - - - PART III - - - MAY - - - - I - - -The afternoon which had seen Sarah's short-lived splendour had been -sweet also for May. Sweeter, indeed, since for her there was no -clashing of fierce passions to jar the tender witchery of her mood. And -though the glamour was of the past,--a sheet of gold as of sunlight far -at the back of her mind; a sea of gold from which she moved ever inward -towards the darkness of the hills,--a tongue of light had suddenly -darted from it to stream like a golden wind-blown ribbon over her path. -That light was the knowledge that in her own hands lay the possibility -of Geordie's return. - -Youth came back to her with the thought, and she sat straighter still in -the trap, holding her unused whip at a jaunty angle across the elastic -bar of the reins. The good horse swung homewards in a generous stride; -the bright wheels of the dog-cart flashed through the dull country like -a whirled autumn leaf. The passers-by found a special sweetness in her -ready smile, because it reflected the secret in her heart. As they went -on their way they said what they always said,--that it was a marvel she -had not married long ago. - -Yet the secret, fair as it was, had also the folly of all great -ventures, since, in laying her hands upon the future, she risked the -memory that had coloured her whole life. To bring Geordie home might -mean nothing but disappointment for herself, sordid disappointment and -shame for a mis-spent girlish dream. Things would be different, at the -very best; part of the memory would have to go. But the chief people to -be considered were the old folks who had so often been the footballs of -fate. Nothing that she might fear on her own account should stand in -the way of this sudden fulfilment for a frustrated old man, this light -to the eyes for an old woman going blind. In any case May was the sort -that would tenderly handle the cracked and mended pot right up to the -moment of dissolution at the well. No disappointment that Geordie could -bring her would remain sordid for very long. Out of her shattered idols -her wisdom and humour would gather her fresh beauty; clear-eyed, -uplifting affection for youthful worship, and pity and tenderness for -passion. - -It was true that Sarah had already rejected her offer,--brutally, -almost, in her determination that May should suffer no further for her -son. But May had already almost forgotten the rough sentences which for -the time being had slammed the opening door in her eager face. Sarah was -strong, she knew, but she herself, because of love in the past and pity -in the present, felt stronger still. She said to herself, smiling, that -sooner or later she would find an argument that would serve. Sooner or -later Sarah would yield, and share with secret delight in the surprise -that they would so gaily prepare for the old man. Sooner or later the -boat would put out from port that carried the lost lad,--Geordie, with -his pockets empty but his heart full, and every nerve of him reaching -towards his home. - -Now she had turned the end of the bay, and was running along the flat -road that hugged the curve of the shore. Below on her right were the -sands, almost within flick of her whip, with the river-channel winding -its dull length a hundred yards away. Beyond it, the sand narrowed into -the arm of the marsh, until the eye caught the soft etching of the -Thornthwaite farm, set on the faint gold and green of the jutting land. - -The inn, low, white-faced, dark, with all the light of it in the eyes -that looked so far abroad, was very quiet when she came to it about -three o'clock. The odd-job man was waiting about to take her horse, and -she paused to have a word or two with him in the yard. Then she went -briskly into the silent place, and at once the whole drowsy air of it -stirred and became alive. The spotlessness of the house seemed to take -on a sparkling quality from the swift vitality of her presence. The -very fire seemed to burn brighter when she entered, and the high lights -on the steels and brasses to take a finer gleam. Her father called to -her from the room where he lay upstairs, and her buoyant tread, as she -went up, seemed to strengthen even his numb limbs and useless feet. - -She sat by his bed for some time, telling him all the news, and -conveying as much as she could of the hiring and marketing stir -combined. This particular person had wished to know how he was; the -other had sent him a message to be delivered word for word. One had a -grandmother who had died in similar case; another a remedy that would -recover him in a week. Bits of gossip she had for him, sketches of old -friends; stories of old traits cropping up again which made him chuckle -and cap them from the past. By the time she had finished he was firmly -linked again to life, and had forgotten that deadly detachment which -oppresses the long-sick. Indeed, he almost forgot, as he listened, that -he had not been in Witham himself, hearing the gossip with his own ears -and seeing the familiar faces with his own eyes. For the time being he -was again part of that central country life, the touchstone by which -country-folk test reality and the truth of things, and by contact with -which their own identity is intensified and preserved. - -But her eyes were turned continually to the window as she chatted and -laughed, dwelling upon the misty picture even when they were not -followed by her mind. Only her brain answered without fail when her -gaze travelled to the farm on the farther shore. Gradually the picture -shadowed and dimmed in line, but still she sat by the bed and laughed -with her lips while her heart looked always abroad. Neither she nor her -father ever drew a blind in the little inn. They had lived so long with -that wide prospect stretching into the house that they would have -stifled mentally between eyeless walls. - -She talked until he was tired, and then she made his tea, and left him -happy with the papers which she had brought from Witham. Her own tea she -ate mechanically, with the whole of her mind still fixed on the promise -of the day, and when she had finished she was drawn to the window again -before she knew. The Thornthwaites would be home by now, she concluded, -looking out. Tired and discouraged, they would be back again at the -farm, feeling none of the quivering hope which lifted and thrilled her -heart. Sarah would not even dwell on the offer, having put it by for -good, and Simon did not as much as know that there had been an offer at -all. They would creep to bed and sleep drearily, or wake drearily -against their will, while she would wake of her own accord in order to -clasp her purpose and find it still alive. She could not bear the -thought of the long, blank night which would so soon be wrapping them -round; even a stubborn refusal of her hope would be a better friend to -them than that. Stronger and stronger grew the knowledge within her -that she must see them before they slept. It was for their sake, she -told herself, at first, thirsting to be across, and then, as she -clinched her decision, knew it was also for her own. - -She went upstairs again to put on her coat and hat, wondering as she did -so what her father would have to say. He would be sure to enquire what -took her across the sands so late, yet he would wonder and fret if she -left him without a word. Geordie's name had dropped into silence -between them for many a year, and, lately as she had spoken it to Sarah, -it would be hard to speak it now. She knew only too well what her -father would think of her offer of hard-saved gold. He had always been -bitter against Geordie for her sake, and would want no wastrel fetched -overseas to play on her pity again. She stole half-way down the stairs, -and then was vexed with herself and went up again with a resolute tread. -Once more she hesitated, with her hand on the door-latch, and then it -slipped from her finger and she found herself in the room. - -Fleming looked up from his paper with his faded eyes. "Off again, -lass?" he enquired, noticing how she was dressed. "Is there a pill-gill -Milthrop way to-night?" - -She shook her head. - -"Not as I know of.... Nay, I'm sure there's not." She stood staring at -him, uncertain what to say, and then her eyes, as if of their own -accord, turned back towards the sands. "I just felt like going out a bit -again, that's all." - -"Likely you're going up road for a crack wi' Mrs. Bridge?" - -"Nay ... I didn't think o' going there." - -"To t'station, happen?" - -"Nor that, neither...." There was a little pause. "Just--out," she -added, and the note in her voice seemed to reach before her over the -sandy waste. Fleming heard it, and saw the track of her gaze as well. - -"What's up, lass?" he asked quietly, letting his paper drop. "What -d'you want to do?" - -She braced herself then, swinging round to him with one of her cheerful -laughs. "You'll think I'm daft, I know," she said, looking down at him -with dancing eyes, "but I'm right set on seeing Mrs. Thornthet again -to-night. We'd a deal to say to each other this morning, but we didn't -finish our talk. I thought I could slip over sand and back before it -was dark." - -Fleming looked perturbed. - -"It's over late for that, isn't it?" he asked. "Light's going pretty -fast an' all. Hadn't you best bide till morning, and gang then?" - -"I don't feel as I can. I'm set on going to-night. I've often been -across as late, you'll think on. I'll take right good care." - -"What about tide?" - -"Not for a couple of hours yet, and I've not that much to say. Boat's -ready alongside channel; it nobbut wants shoving off. I'll be there and -back before you can say knife." - -"Ay, well, then, you'd best be off, and look sharp about it!" Fleming -conceded in a reluctant tone. "I'll have t'lamp put in winder as usual -to set you back. Don't you get clattin' now and forget to see if it's -there." - -"I'll look out for it, don't you fret. Like as not I'll never go inside -the house. There's just something I want to make sure of before I -sleep." - -She nodded brightly and began to move away, but he called her back -before she reached the door. With the quickness of those who lie long -in a sick room, he had noticed the change in her atmosphere at once. -Restlessness and impatience were strange things to find in May, and -there was a touch of excitement in her manner as well. He looked at her -thoughtfully as she retraced her steps. - -"Is there any news o' that wastrel lad o' theirs? Happen he's thinking -o' coming back?" - -The words spoken from another's mouth brought a rush of certainty to her -longing mind. She answered him confidently, as if she held the actual -proof. - -"That's it, father! That's right." She laughed on a buoyant, happy -note. "Our Geordie's coming home!" - -"To-night?" Fleming's mouth opened. "D'ye mean he's coming to-night?" - -"Nay, I don't know about that!" She laughed again. "But it'll be before -so long. I feel as sure about it as if he was knocking at Sandholes -door!" - -"You've no call to be glad of it, as I can see," Fleming said, with a -touch of fretfulness in his tone. "Are you thinking o' wedding him -after all this time?" - -Her head drooped a little. - -"I'm past thinking o' that, and he'll have been past it long ago. I'm -just glad for the old folks' sake, that's all. It's like as if it was -somebody dead that was coming back, so that I needn't believe in death -and suchlike any more. It's like as if it's myself as is coming -back,--as if I should open door and see the lass I used to be outside." - -"I'd be glad to see you settled afore I went, but not wi' an idle -do-nowt as'd spoil your life. It'll be queer to me if Geordie -Thornthet's made much out. He was a wastrel, right enough, for all his -wheedlin' ways." - -"I'm past thinking o' marriage," she said again. "It's just what it -means to the old folks, poor old souls!" - -"Ay. They've had a mighty poor time, they have that." He sighed, -thinking of many a tale of woe unfolded by Simon beside his bed. Then he -looked up at her with a whimsical smile. "They'd nobbut the one bairn, -same as your mother and me, and there's been whiles I've been real mad -because you weren't a lad. Ay, well, I've lived to see the folly o' my -ways, and to thank God I'd nobbut a lass! You're worth a dozen Geordie -Thornthets any day o' the week...." - -She was gone with an answering smile directly he finished his speech, -and the sound of her feet was light and swift on the stair. Hearing -her, he, too, seemed to see her a girl again, gone to meet Geordie -Thornthwaite along the shore. But instead of reviving and cheering him, -it made him sad. He was too near the end to wish himself back at the -start. He glanced at the lamp on the table to make sure that it was -filled, and settled himself back to his papers with a sigh. - - - - - II - - -May stopped to speak to the hired girl as she went out, and was alarmed -by the creeping dusk already in the inn. She breathed again when she -was in the road, and saw the dull light holding yet on either hand. The -soft closing of the door behind her back gave her a long-forgotten -thrill, bringing back similar autumn evening hours, when she had gone to -meet a lover from over the sands. - -She got down to the shore about the time that the scene at Blindbeck was -drawing to an end. She hurried, not only because she had little or no -time to waste, but because she could not have gone slowly if she had -tried. The young May had never gone slowly, who was all kindness and -knew nothing of pride. She ran down the shingle and across the sand, -only pausing to draw breath and to reprove herself at the channel's -edge. Passers-by on the flat road stopped to stare at her as she sped -across, wondering what she could be doing at that hour. Pausing, she -looked across at the farm before she bent to the boat, chiding herself -for her almost childish haste. But her tongue ached to let loose the -words of persuasion that she carried with her, and her heart ached for -the word of permission that she was sure she would carry back. She did -not doubt for a moment that Sarah would give way, so strong was her -inward belief that Geordie was coming home. - -At last she pushed off, stepped in and punted herself across, and once -out again on dry ground tried to hold herself to a walk. The sand, -ribbed and hard beneath her feet, spoke to the fact that the tide had -been gone for hours. It was extraordinary how forgotten the sands -always seemed as soon as the tide had gone away. Only those who had -proved it by daily experience could believe that the water would ever -return. Even to them it remained something of the miracle that it was -in truth, arousing continually a thrill of awed surprise. Yet, side by -side with that impression of final retreat, of waste that had always -been waste and would never be reclaimed, was one of a brooding terror -that was only waiting its hour. The sea and the sands were like cat and -mouse, May thought,--the one, aloof, indifferent, yet always poised to -leap; the other, inert, paralysed though apparently free, and always the -certain victim in the end. - -She looked behind and before from the quiet home which she had left to -the still more lonely and quiet house which was her goal. There was a -point about half-way across at which it seemed as if she would never -reach the one, never get back to the other in all time. Both seemed to -recede from her equally as she moved, vague shapes formed only of -imagination and the mist. Just for a moment that vagueness of things -which she knew to be concrete caught her by the throat. The little that -she could see of the earth was so cloudlike, so lacking in sturdy -strength. The very shore of the marsh looked as though a breath might -dissolve it in thin air. Though the distance across was little more -than a mile, the feeling of space around her was infinite as the sky. -The sands seemed suddenly to become a treadmill under her feet, turning -and turning, but never bringing her to the horizon which she sought. -The whole doorway of the bay was blocked by the great wall of mist, and -over the Lake mountains there was a smother of mist, and mist over all -the land that went east to the Pennine range. She began to fear even the -crinkled sand which felt so firm, as if it might suddenly sway and shift -like one of the many traps with which the bay was sown. Behind her, the -grey, faint-gleaming strip of the channel seemed to cut her off from her -safe home. A slice of the bank broke suddenly with an echoing spash, -chilling her with the lonely terror of water that has a victim in its -hold. The boat, helpless-looking, inert, a mere black speck on the -channel edge, seemed the only insoluble thing beside herself. She longed -for the comfort of her feet on the tarred boards, for the reassurance of -her hands against the sculls. It was a moment or two before she had the -courage to let it go, and face a world that was full of bodiless shapes -and evanescent shores. - -But almost before she knew it she was on the opposite side, scrambling -up the stones to the grassy slope beyond, and so, panting and hurrying, -to the top of the sea-wall. She saw at once that there was nobody in -the house, that it was still with the growing stillness of augmented -hours, and a further chill fell on her happy mood. Yet she was glad at -least to be there to welcome the old folks when they came, and in any -case they could not be very far. Every jolt of the trap must be -bringing them nearer to the net which she was spreading so lovingly for -their feet. They would be tired, of course, and probably very cross, -but May was used to market-day moods and would not care. With -affectionate ruthlessness she told herself that would yield to her all -the sooner for being tired. Presently they would agree unwillingly that -she might have her way, and then she would hurry home again as if on -wings. They would be crosser than ever after she had gone, vexed both -with her and themselves and terribly touched in their pride. And then, -slowly but surely, the hope that she had forced upon them would begin to -race its stimulant through their veins. They would lie down to sleep -with a secret gladness that they had not the courage to confess, and -would wake in the morning and know that the world had been made for them -anew. - -She kept stopping the rush of her thoughts to send her senses over the -marsh, but no sign of life came back to her, or sound of wheel or hoof. -The wide stretches of grass and plough and the long length of road -seemed almost as unsuggestive of human influence as the sands -themselves. Swifter and swifter faded the passionate confidence which -had sent her out, leaving the risks of the matter uppermost in her mind. -She remembered that it was possible to be patient all one's life, and -yet to wreck the fruits of it in an unguarded hour. This sudden mental -and physical rashness might be symbolical of a greater rashness of the -soul. Perhaps after to-night all her footholds and anchorages might go, -leaving the world that she had managed so bravely only a nightmare -blurred by tears. - -The dusk thickened about her as the night tried to impress itself on the -earth as a separate entity from the mist. The most that it could do, -however, was to produce the effect of a hovering shadow from some huge -arrested wing. The real warning of night was in the deepened sense of -loneliness and dread of personal diminution in a growing space, in the -further recession of things unseen as well as seen. It lay, too, in the -stirring consciousness of the impending advent of the tide. She began -to look anxiously towards her father's window for the lamp, and though -she was comforted when she saw no sign, it stamped the illusion of -desolation on her mind. Then she heard the cattle stir in the shippon -as she walked along the wall, and was cheered and companioned by them -for a little while. She would have gone down to them, or to the dog, -who was always a firm friend, but she was afraid of losing her -consciousness of time. She could not tear herself, either, from her -breathless waiting for the silence to fill with life. She was cold -whether she stood or walked, and more and more oppressed by a sense of -folly and grave doubt. She even laughed at the middle-aged woman who -had thrilled like a girl, but she laughed between her tears. Once or -twice she ran down the bank and on to the sand, but always something -drew her back, and at last, when she had listened so long that she had -ceased to hear, there came the crunching sound of the Thornthwaite -wheels. It was there suddenly where there had been no sign, as if it -had only begun at the moment it reached her ear. At once her courage -sprang up again, and her spirits rose. The whole affair was sweet and -brave once more. It was as if she had heard her lover himself coming -surely towards her over the lonely marsh.... - - - - - III - - -Simon uttered an exclamation when he saw the figure on the wall. His -heart leaped first with a supernatural fear, and then with a sudden -foreboding of some normal ill. His nerves were still unstrung from his -experience with the car, and ready enough to shape familiar objects into -ghosts. Even when he had recognised May and spoken her name, he could -not rid himself of his feeling of alarm. - -So he was not pleased to see her when she came running down, and Sarah, -who had spent so kindly a morning with her, was not pleased either. In -the last few miles she had seemed to travel out of human touch, and -there was a jar in the sudden intrusion of even this one thing left to -her to love. Her brow contracted both with the effort of thought and -the effort of sight, but indeed she knew well enough why May was there. -Her intuition had worked uncertainly all the day, but it warned her now. -She knew what impulse had brought May out to await their coming home. - -Simon, however, had no clue to this sudden appearance at his journey's -end. He sat still in the trap as she came swiftly through the yard, and -then leaned out to address her with an anxious frown. - -"Nay, now whatever's brought you trapesin' here so late? Nowt wrong, is -there? Father badly again? Is he axin' for me, by any chance?" - -She reassured him with a shake of the head and a smile, and, as in the -case of Mr. Dent, he felt a sudden resentment towards smiles. In all -his life Simon had never encountered so many smiling faces as had looked -at him that day. - -"All's right, thank you.... Father's much about the same. I wanted a -word with Mrs. Thornthet, that was all. - -"You've been a terble while on the road, though!" she added gaily, -before he could speak. "I'd about made up my mind as I'd have to be -getting back." - -"We were kept at Blindbeck, that's how it was," Simon said, remembering -suddenly and with gloom the precise circumstances under which they had -been kept. "But if you nobbut wanted a word wi' the missis, you could -surely ha' waited while morn. It's a daft-like trick to be lakin' on -t'sands when it's getting dark." - -His words made her turn again to throw a glance at the inn, but still -there was no summoning gleam from the room upstairs. "Ay, but tide -isn't till six," she answered him coaxingly, turning back, "and I shan't -be long. Father'll show a light for me when it's time I was setting -off." - -Sarah, ignoring the pair of them, had already clambered out, and Simon -remembered that he had the horse to stable and the cows to milk and -feed. "Danged foolishness, that's what it is!" he growled, as he -scrambled down, giving May a very unaccustomed scowl. "If I did as I -ought, I'd be skifting you pretty sharp. Say what you've gitten to say, -and then clear out!" - -Sarah had been moving away from them towards the house, but, as May -followed her, she swung about. There was no invitation, however, in her -rigid face. - -"You've nowt to say as I know on," she said in a curt tone, "and I'm -rarely tired. Anyway, there's no sense in lossing yourself for a bit of -a chat." - -"I'll not lose myself, not I!" May laughed, advancing towards her, full -of kindly warmth. She had been prepared for some such reception as this, -and was not depressed. "What, I've been across that often, it's the -same to me as the road! I've been over when it was snowing,--ay, and by -moonlight, too. As for Geordie," she added, with a tender laugh, "he's -crossed in the pitch dark, with only his nose to tell him where he was -at! - -"I was bound to ask you again before I slept," she urged, casting a -glance at Simon, busy with the horse. "Can't I come in a minute?--I -won't be long. It's late to be telling my business in the yard." - -"You've no business wi' me," Sarah said stolidly, "so you can stop off -yon weam voice. You're not coming into Sandholes to-night, May Fleming, -so that's flat!" - -May laughed again, but there was less confidence in the laugh. She -waited to speak again until Simon had moved away, the dog leaping and -barking under the horse's nose. - -"It's a shame," she said cheerfully, "to bother you so late, but I just -couldn't bring myself to wait. It was you as brought it all back, Mrs. -Thornthet, come to that, with yon talk at the doctor's of Geordie coming -home!" - -"There's no talk of him coming," Sarah said coldly, "and never was." -With one magnificent sweep she disposed of the fallacy of the afternoon. -"You ought to ha' more sense than to go fancying things like that!" - -"But you'd a letter, you said, begging his fare?" May was slightly -bewildered, but went pressing on. "You said he was keen to come, if he -had the brass." - -"Ay, and there wasn't no brass; so yon's finished and by wi'," Sarah -said. - -"Ay, but there is," May pleaded. "Plenty o' brass!" She faltered a -little before the other's lack of response. "Nay, Mrs. Thornthet, don't -you look like that! What does it matter where it comes from if it makes -folks glad?" - -"I'll buy no gladness o' mine from you, my lass, as I said before." - -"I can spare the brass right enough,--if it's only that." - -"Ay, but I can't spare the pride to take it," Sarah said. - -"Ay, well, then, think as you're buying my happiness!" May begged. "I'd -be real proud to think as I'd brought him back, even if he never looked -aside at me again." - -"You'd have lile or nowt to be proud on, I'll be bound!" There was a -touch of weary impatience in Sarah's voice. "And what-like happiness -would it be for you in the end? Nay, May, my girl, we've thrashed the -matter out, and I'm over-tired to be fret wi' it to-night." - -May sighed, and stood looking at her with troubled eyes, but she was -unable to let the whole of her hope go. - -"I'm right sorry to have put you about," she said sadly. "It's a real -shame! Can't you promise to think it over a bit? I'll come over -to-morrow for another talk." - -"I want neither talking nor thinking, so that's flat!" Sarah snapped. -"I'll promise to turn key in the door when I see you coming, and that's -all!" - -The tears came into May's eyes. - -"You've no call to go telling me off like that," she said, with a little -break in her voice. "I haven't done anything that's wrong, I'm sure." - -"You've shoved your nose into other folks' business," Sarah said -roughly,--"that's what you've done! I'll thank you to leave us to do -for our lad as'll suit us best!" - -"He was mine, too!" May flung at her suddenly, roused at last. "Long -ago, maybe,--years on years,--but he was mine as well!" - -Sarah gave a sneering laugh. - -"There'll be more than one lass, I reckon, setting up to think that!" - -May uttered a little cry, wounded to the heart. - -"Eh, but you're a cruel woman, Mrs. Thornthet!" she exclaimed, in a -voice quivering with pain. "It's true I'd be glad to see Geordie again, -but it don't make that much difference now. It's for your sake and poor -Mr. Thornthet's that I want to see him back.... - -"You're fond o' me, nowadays," she went on bravely, controlling herself -again. "You like me well enough now, whatever you felt once. Can't you -take the money for the sake of bygone times?" - -But already Sarah had turned away from her and was moving towards the -door. She fitted the key in the lock with the ease of use, and gave the -rickety door an opening push. And again May followed and stood, strong -in the courage of those who plead for the thing that they have at heart. - -"Don't go away feeling mad with me, Mrs. Thornthet!" she begged. "I'm -sorry I spoke as I did. Think on how happy we were together, this -morning, you and me. Think how it would be if he was to come marching -into the yard...." - -Sarah was now over the threshold, with her hand against the door, but -May's hand was also against it, refusing to let it close. Her face was -white as a flower upon the dusky air, pleading and sweet with frank lips -and tearful eyes. Sarah herself was engulfed by the dark house, a shadow -that was yet more surely a block than the actual door. It seemed to May -that she had all the passionless resistance of some ancient, immovable -stone. A lantern across showed the black squares of the shippon stalls, -the white coats of the beasts and Simon moving from dark to light. May -did not know that the old woman's purpose was giving in the pause, that -that last sentence of hers had broken the stubborn will. She waited -despairingly, seeking for more to say, and finding nothing, since the -right word had been said. And because she despaired she broke the pause -too soon, in an access of hopelessness flinging away her chance. Taking -her hand from the door, she pointed to Simon at his job. - -"I'll ask Mr. Thornthet, then!" she cried sharply, beginning to move -away. "Happen he'll see to it for me instead of you. Happen he'll see -the offer's kindly meant, and not let pride and suchlike stand between!" - -But Sarah, too, cried out before she had gone a yard, her voice harsh -with wrath and a sort of fear. - -"You leave Simon be," she cried fiercely,--"let him be! I've had enough -o' your worry, without plaguin' him an' all. You get back to your dad, -and don't come interfering again. You came between me and my lad, but -you shan't meddle wi' my man! You mean well enough, I don't doubt, but -you're nobbut a meddler, all the same. It never does to go shoving -kindnesses at folk who keep on saying nay. If you force 'em, you do 'em -more harm than good in the long run, by a deal. D'you think I want -Geordie coming back in rags, as like a tramp on t'roads as a couple o' -peas? D'you think I want a drunken do-nowt loafing about t'spot,--a -thief, maybe, or happen summat worse? What sort o' food and drink would -yon be to Blindbeck, d'you think? Eliza's gitten enough on her tongue, -without the likes o' that! Nay, the lad as went was a limb, but he was -bonny and smart, and Eliza'll always think of him like yon. She'll -always think in her heart as he was the better o' Jim, for all she talks -so loud. But if he come back to shame us, it'd rob me even o' that. I -couldn't abide it!" she finished vehemently. "It'd be worse than death. -I'd rather the sea took him afore ever he reached home!" - -She stopped with an indrawn breath, and the door, creaking abruptly, -showed that her weight was heavy on the latch. May stood still in the -yard, as still as the shadow that had once again turned to ancient -stone. The silence that had fallen between them seemed to push her -away, to drive them so far apart that never again would they be able to -speak. At last, in that terrible outpouring, May had discovered the -real barrier to her desire. There were pride and generosity in the way, -but there was also something which she could not fight. The monstrous, -lifelong obsession of Eliza had slopped even the natural road to a -mother's heart. - -Fear came over her, a more terrible fear than had taken her on the -sands. In the quiet spot that should have been homely because of the -moving light and the dumb beasts, she had a hint of something not quite -sane. Things that had no place in the life of the soil seemed suddenly -to have forced a passage in. She peered into the darkness of Sarah's -mind, as her bodily eyes sought for her hidden face. - -She was startled into action again by the old dog's nose thrust kindly -into her hand. He had listened to the urgent voices with constantly -pricked ears, knowing by instinct that somebody suffered and was afraid. -Now he came to May, begging her to take charge of her soul, lest he, -too, whose only trust was in Man, should suffer fear. She laid her hand -for a moment on the warmth of his head, dropping her gaze to meet his -upturned eyes. Instantly, however, as if he had brought her a further -message, she looked towards the bay, and saw the lamp in her father's -window spring to life. - -She was loth to go with this wreck of things at her feet, but in her -destitution of heart she was afraid to stay. Armed with the promise, -she would have cared nothing for dark or tide, but with this weight at -her heart it seemed as if it would take her all the night to cross the -sand. She tried to believe that she would return to wrestle with Sarah -in the day, but she knew well enough that she would never return. Eliza, -and all that Eliza had meant in their spoiled lives, lay like a -poisonous snake across her path. - -She wondered drearily what had become of the passionate certainty with -which she had set out. The sea still sundered her lover and herself, -the bar of the sea so much greater than any possible stretch of land. -There were people to whom the sea was a sort of curse, and perhaps, -without knowing it, she was one of those. She loved it, indeed, but she -never forgot that it had taken her first hope. Perhaps it mocked at her -love as Sarah had mocked her love. Perhaps it was only waiting out in -the dark to do her harm.... - -She made one last entreating movement towards the shadow that was stone, -but nobody moved in the darkness and nobody spoke. She could not be -sure at that moment whether Sarah was there, or whether all that she -begged of was merely blackened space. Then she began by degrees to move -away, wrenching her feet, as it were, from the ground of the yard. -Sadly, without looking back, she mounted the sea-wall, bowed by her -burden of failure and sorrow and self-contempt. But the fear took her -again as soon as she faced the sands, and she hurried down the further -side. The good angel of the Thornthwaites fled away into the night as -if driven by flails. - - - - - PART IV - - - GEORDIE-AN'-JIM - - - - I - - -The blackness stirred in the doorway and became human again, setting the -door to the jamb with a firm, decisive push. Sarah followed the dark -stone passage to the kitchen, moving with freedom on the ground she -knew. In the bare, silent room, that seemed at the same time barer and -yet more peopled because of the dusk, she took off her old mantle, her -shabby bonnet and her black thread gloves. She set a lighted candle on -the table in the middle of the room, and from the cupboard by the hearth -she took paper and wood, and kindled a pale, unhomely glow in the dusty, -ash-filled grate. In the outer darkness that was the scullery she -filled the kettle, and brought it to wait the reluctant patronage of the -fire. It was not yet night over the sands, but the candle was more than -sufficient to quench the fainting effort of the day. The only outside -light was the steady glow of the lamp, set in the face of the inn to -call its daughter home. - -Still, however, the house seemed unaroused, and would remain so until -the master came in, because those who live much by themselves do not -hear the sound of their own feet. They seem to themselves to move like -ghosts through the rooms; it is only their thoughts that they hear about -the place. And there are no houses so quiet as those which spend half -their days hearkening to that eternal talker, the sea. The other half -of their lives is still as the sands are still, sharing that same -impression of quittance for all time. - -The kitchen, once perfectly kept, was already beginning to show signs of -Sarah's failing sight. There were holes in the cloth rug which she -unrolled before the fire, and slits in the patch-work cushions on the -rush-bottomed chairs. The pots in the half-empty pot-rail were all -askew, and the battered pewter and brass had ceased to put in its claim -to be silver and gold. There was an out-of-date almanack under the old -clock, and an ancient tide-table over the mantelshelf. But the real -tragedy of the place was not in its poverty but in its soul. Behind the -lack of material comfort there was a deeper penury still,--the lack of -hope and a forward outlook and a reason for going on. The place was -cold because the hearts of its tenants were growing cold. - -The candle, as always, drove the impression of utter desolation home. -No other light produces that same effect of a helpless battle against -the dark. No other is so surely a symbol of the defiant human soul, -thinking it shines on the vast mysteries of space. No other shows so -clearly the fear of the soul that yet calls its fear by the name of -courage and stands straight, and in the midst of the sea of the dark -cries to all men to behold that courage and take heart. - -All about that little challenge of light were the brooding obscurities -of sand and marsh, and, nearer yet, the looming enigma of the empty -house. At the back of the mind there was always the consciousness of -unlit rooms, of echoing passages, and climbing, creaking stairs. Always -at night there is that mystery of terror in a half-used house, pressing -on those who crouch in some charmed corner of its walls. - -Sarah was different, somehow, now that she was at home, and free of the -outdoor-clothes which she had worn all day. It was as if bonnet and -mantle were the armour of her class, in which she was ready to face the -offensive of the world. Without it she was more primitive and more -human, relaxed in muscles and nerves. Now one could guess at the -motherliness in her to which Jim had clung, unswervingly trusting in -spite of her dislike. Her grey hair had been slightly ruffled both by -the bonnet and the drive, and on her old neck it even curled a little, -showing itself still soft and fine. - -She was tired with that terrible tiredness which sees the day behind -like a series of folding cardboard views. She seemed to have lived many -days in that single day, with never a moment between them to fit her for -the next. More than once, indeed, she had been ready to collapse, but -always the stimulus of some fresh event had set her going again. Now she -had reached the point when she was too tired to allow herself to be -tired, when body and mind, usually careful to save the next day's -strength, recklessly lay both hands upon their all. - -Even at the last moment had come the sudden struggle with May, and the -zest of that strife still tingled in her veins. After that long day of -damaged pride it was pleasant to have asserted it in the end, to have -claimed the right to suffer rather than be forcibly blessed. All day -she had tasted in prospect the salt savour of another's bread, but here -was something that she could refuse. She was still too stiff with fight -to care that she had wounded a generous nature in the act. It was true -that she could not have borne the sight of a Geordie who would have -brought her fresh disgrace. The love that cares for the broken more -than the sound could not thrive while she feared the sneer of the idol -to whom she would not bow. - -Beyond, in the dairy, there came the sound of metalled boots, and the -pails spoke musically on the flags as Simon set them down. She heard -him shuffling across to open the inner door, and then--"Milk's in, -missis!" he called to her, as his head came through. - -There was a nervous sound in his voice, at which Sarah almost smiled, -knowing that his conscience must be ill at ease. She answered "Oh, ay," -without turning, for she was busy with the fire, which, as if hating the -atmosphere into which it was born, was doing its best to escape from it -again. - -"I'll see to the fire for you, missis," he said, crossing to her side. -"Set you down and be easy a bit. You're likely tired." - -"Nay, I'll manage all right," she protested stolidly, and then suddenly -yielded to him, and moved away. She did not sit down, however, but -remained standing on the hearth, while he went on his knees to set the -bellows between the bars. - -"May give me a fair start," he observed presently, when the flame had -consented to grow. "What was she after, coming off like that?" - -"Nay, it was nowt much," Sarah said easily, in an indifferent tone. "It -was nobbut some daftness she'd got in her head, that's all." - -"She mun ha' been rarely keen to come across so late. Was it summat or -other she wanted you to do?" - -"Ay," Sarah said firmly, "but I couldn't see my way. I tellt her so -this morning when I see her in town." - -"Summat about your eyes, likely?" he enquired nervously, blowing hard. - -"Losh save us, no! It was nowt to do wi' that." - -"Will was rarely put out when I tellt him what doctor had said," Simon -went on. "He was right sorry, he was, and real anxious to do what he -could." - -"Ay, he's kind, is Will. He's a right good friend. But I won't take -owt I can help from him, all the same." - -"Because o' yon woman of his?" Simon asked angrily, stumbling to his -feet. He threw a last glance at the fire, and saw that it seemed -resigned to its now evident fate. He was sorry for Sarah, and guiltily -conscious of his own relief, but the thought of Eliza whipped his mind -to rage. This was nothing new, though, either to man or wife, after the -usual meeting at the end of the week. However long they had held their -tongues from her name, it was suddenly out, and the air was vibrating at -once with the rising tremolo of their hate. - -"Nay, then, what's yon besom to do wi' it, any way round? Will's -money's his own, I reckon, and he can do as he likes. Happen you'll -choose to see sense about it come Judgment Day, but not afore!" - -"A farmer's wife addles half his brass,--we all know that. You can't -touch a man wi'out laying a finger on his folks." - -"A deal Eliza's done for him," Simon scoffed, "barrin' giving him best -of her tongue! I'll be bound you'd never think twice about t'brass if -you and Eliza was friends. It's this spite as there is atween you as -sets you taking things amiss. Eliza would likely ha' been no worse than -most, if you hadn't made sure she was always wanting a slap!" - -Sarah received these remarks with an ironic smile. - -"Bosom friends we'd ha' been, d'ye think," she asked, "if I'd nobbut -seen my way to a bit more care?" - -"Nay, well, I wouldn't be sure about that," he returned grandly, hedging -with ease. "But we'd all ha' done better, I'll take my oath, if you -hadn't been that smart to take offence." - -"Happen I'd ha' done best to hold my tongue, when she was telling all -Witham we'd gitten notice to quit?" - -"Nay, I don't know about that!" ... He was stamping about the floor. "A -bit o' tact wi' her, happen? ... nay, dang her, I don't know! ... -Leastways, you needn't ha' tellt her yon rubbish this afternoon," he -concluded, brought to a stand. - -"You'd have had me set by and say nowt while she sneered at our lad?" - -"Nay, then, I wouldn't,--dang her! ... I wouldn't, that's flat!" - -"You'd have had me say nowt, neither, yon day we was wed,--give her a -kiss, happen, and praise her gown----?" - -"Nay, then, I wouldn't, I tell you! Blast you! Nowt o' the sort!" -Simon was fairly shouting now. He thumped at the table in his rage. "I -wish to Gox I could ha' gitten my hands round her throat wi'out having -to swing!" - -Sarah looked at his prancing shape with the same ironic smile. - -"Nay, my lad, there's better ways than that wi' Eliza, by a deal. D'ye -think I haven't gitten a bit o' my own back, now and then? I've had my -knife in her deep,--ay, deep!--time and again. There's better ways wi' -Eliza than just twisting her neck. What, this very day I've made her -weep tears as she's never wept afore,--tears as near tears o' blood as -Eliza'll ever weep...." She stopped, recalling the scene in which -Nature had shone like a star in Eliza just for once.... "Nay, Simon," -she went on quietly, "there's no sense in our getting mad. It's over -late to go preaching love atween Eliza and me. Men don't know what hate -can be between women when it's gitten hold. It's a thing best let -alone,--never mentioned,--let alone. It's a big thing, caged-like, as -was small once, and then comes full-grown. It's over late to go trying -to stroke it through the bars." - -"I nobbut wanted to make the best o' things," Simon muttered, ashamed. -"The Lord knows I'd give my hand to put you top-dog of Eliza just for -once. But I'm not denying I'm terble thankful to ha' fixed things up. -I reckon I'll sleep to-night as I haven't for weeks. I'm right sorry, -though, if you're taking it hard." - -"I'll take it right enough when it's here," Sarah said gently, turning -away. "I won't make no bother about it, don't you fret." - -She picked up the kettle and set it on the fire, as if she meant to put -an end to the talk. Simon lingered, however, casting uneasy glances at -her face. - -"I've a job in t'far shuppon to see to," he said at last, and lighted -the old lantern that swung against the wall.... "Yon's tide, surely?" -he added suddenly, as he took it down.... "Nay, it's over soon." - -He lifted the lantern to look at the table above the shelf, but Sarah -shook her head. - -"Yon's an old table, think on. It's no use looking there. Tide's six -o'clock, it you want to know." - -He said, "Oh, ay. I'd clean forgot," and still stood on the hearth, as -if reluctant to go. Presently he spoke humbly, twisting the lantern in -his hand. - -"It's real hard on you, Sarah, to come down like this. I don't know as -I like it myself, but it's worse for you. But we've been right kind wi' -each other all these years. You'll not think shame on me when I'm a -hired man?" - -She turned back to him, then, trying to see his face, and it seemed to -him that she really saw him for the first time in many months. But, in -point of fact, it was the eyes of the mind that were looking at the eyes -of the mind.... And then, unexpectedly, he saw her smile. - -"Nay, my lad," she said strongly, "you mun be wrong in t'garrets to -think that! If there's owt to think shame on it'll be stuff like yon. -You're the same lad to me as when we was wed, just as Eliza's the same -cruel, jibing lass. I reckon that's where the trouble lies, if it come -to that. Love and hate don't change, neither on 'em, all our lives. -D'you think I'd ha' kept my hate so warm if I hadn't ha' kept love?" - -He nodded doubtfully in reply, and began slowly to edge away. But -before he had reached the threshold he paused again. - -"Anyway, we've had the best on't!" he cried triumphantly, as if -inspired. "Eliza's had what looks most, but we've had the real things, -you and me!" And then, as she did not speak, the spirit died in him, -and his head drooped. "Ay, well, we mun do what we can," he finished -lamely. "We mun do what we can. 'Tisn't as if it'll be so long for -either on us, after all." - -"Shall I see to t'milk for you?" he added diffidently, but was refused. - -"Nay," Sarah said. "I can manage right well. I know they milk-pans -better than my face. I'd like to stick to my job as long as I can." - -Simon said--"Ay, well, then, I'll be off!" and looked at the door; and -stared at the door, and said--"Ay, well, I'll be off!" again. He had an -uneasy feeling that he ought to stay, but there was that job in the far -shippon he wanted to do. He wandered uncertainly towards the outer -door, and then, almost as if the door had pushed him, stumbled into the -yard. - - - - - II - - -Sarah stood thinking after Simon had gone, following with ease the -troubled workings of his mind. The smile came back to her lips as she -recalled his obvious sense of guilt. Behind all his anger and chafing -humiliation it was easy to see his growing pleasure and relief. It was -more than likely, indeed, that he would be priding himself on his new -position before so long. Perhaps age, which has a merciful as well as a -cruel blindness of its own, might prevent him from ever realising where -he stood. She could picture him lording it over the gentler-natured -Will, and even coming in time to dominate the farm. It was only for her -that there would be no lording it,--and open sight. It was only on her -account that he was still ashamed. - -It was cruel to grudge him the little solace he had left, but the thing -which eased the position for him would form a double cross for her. -Hitherto, they had stood together in their hatred of Blindbeck and its -female head, and in the very depth of their darkness still had each -other to soothe their shame. But now Simon's attitude was bound to -alter at least towards the farm. There would come a day when he would -turn upon her for some chance remark, and from that hour he would be -openly on Blindbeck's side. The new tie would make him forget those -bitter upheavals of jealous rage. Slowly the place would come between -them until she was left to hate alone. - -For her, the change would simply deliver her, blind and bound, into -Eliza's hand. She could have laughed as she saw how the thing she had -fought against all her life had captured her at last. Even with Eliza -dead or gone, Blindbeck would still have stifled her as with -unbreathable air. Her spirit and Eliza's would have lived their battles -again, and even over a grave she would have suffered and struggled -afresh. But Eliza was neither dead nor mercifully removed, but was -already snuffing the battle-smoke from afar. The whole account of their -lives would come up in full, and be settled against the under-dog for -good. It was as whipping-boy to Eliza that she would go to the house by -Blindbeck gates. - -At the present moment, however, she neither suffered nor rebelled. -Physically, she had reached the point at which the mind detaches itself -resolutely from further emotional strain. The flame of hate burnt -steadily but without effort, and with almost as pure a light as the -flame of love itself. Like all great passions, it lifted her out of -herself, lending her for the time being a still, majestic strength. -There is little to choose at the farthest point of all between the -exaltation of holiness and the pure ecstasy of hate. To the outside eye -they show the same shining serenity, almost the same air of smiling -peace. It is the strangest quality in the strange character of this -peculiarly self-destroying sin. Because of it she was able to go about -her evening tasks with ease, to speak gently to Simon in the little -scene which had just passed, and even to dwell on his methods with a -humorous smile upon her lips. - -In the clarified state of her mind pictures rose sharply before her, -covering all the years, yet remaining aloof as pictures, and never -stirring her pulse. So clear they were that they might have been -splashed on the canvas that instant with a new-filled brush. They -sprang into being as a group springs under the white circle of a lamp, -as the scenes the alive and lit brain makes for itself on the dark -curtain of the night. The few journeys she had taken in life she -travelled over again,--rare visits to Lancashire and Yorkshire ... -Grasmere ... Brough Hill Fair. They had stayed in her mind because of -the slow means by which they were achieved, but they counted for very -little in the tale of things. It is not of these casual experiences -that the countryman thinks when the time comes for a steady reviewing of -his life, that intent, fascinated returning upon tracks which is the -soul's preparation for the next great change. They flit to and fro, -indeed, like exotic birds against a landscape with which they have -nothing to do, but it is the landscape itself which holds the eye, and -from which comes the great, silent magic that is called memory, and -mostly means youth. It is the little events of everyday life that -obsess a man at the last, the commonplace, circular come-and-go that -runs between the cradle and the grave. Not public health problems, or -new inventions, or even the upheavals of great wars, but marriage, birth -and death, the coming of strangers destined to be friends, the changing -of tenants in houses which mean so much more than they ever mean -themselves. Binding all is the rich thread of the seasons, with its -many-coloured strands; and, backing all, the increasing knowledge of -Nature and her ways, that revolving wheel of beauty growing ever more -complex and yet more clear, more splendid and yet more simple as the -pulses slow to a close. - -She loved the plain, beautiful farming life that a man may take up in -his hand because it is all of a piece, and see the links of the chain -run even from end to end. Even now she could see the fair-haired child -she had been still running about her home, the child that we all of us -leave behind in our sacred place. She could hear the clatter of clogs -in her father's yard, and all about her the sound of voices which the -daisied earth had stopped. It was strange, when she came to think of -it, that she never heard her own. In all her memories of the child it -seemed to her lip-locked, listening and dumb. Perhaps it was because -she was shut in the child's brain that she could not hear it speak. She -could hear her mother's voice, light and a little sharp, and her -father's a deep rumble in a beard. Even in the swift pictures flashing -by her he looked slow, drifting with steady purpose from house to farm. -Because of his slowness he seemed to her more alive than his wife; there -was more time, somehow, to look at him as he passed. Her bustling, -energetic mother had become little more than a voice, while the -seldom-speaking man was a vital impression that remained. - -Rising up between the shadows that blotted them out was a certain old -woolly sheep-dog and the red torch of the flowering currant beside the -door. There was also a nook in the curve of the garden wall, where, -under a young moon, she had seen the cattle coming across the fields, -sunk to their horns in a fairy-silver mist.... - -It was an open-air life that took her long miles to school, clogging on -frozen roads, through slanting rain or fighting against the wind. -School itself seemed patched in a rather meaningless fashion on that -life, much as the books in the parlour on the busy, unthinking house. A -life of constant and steadily increasing work, from errands of all -sorts, feeding the hens and fetching home the cows, to the heavier -labour of washing and baking, milking, helping with the stock. -Presently there had been the excitement of the first shy dance, and then -the gradual drawing towards marriage as the tide draws to the moon. - -And all the time there had been Eliza making part of her life, from the -plump little girl whom people stopped to admire to the bold intruder at -the altar-rail. Looking back, she could see herself as a stiff and -grave-eyed child, grimly regarding the round-faced giggler from the -start. Even then she had always been the dumb man in the stocks, of -whom the street-urchin that was Eliza made mock as she danced and -played. Only once had she ever definitely got the better of her, and it -had had to last her all her life. Eliza had had many lovers, drawn by -the counterfeit kindliness which hid her callous soul, but when she had -chosen at last, it was Simon who was her choice. Perhaps the one gleam -of romance in Eliza's life had been when she looked at Simon ... and -Simon had looked away. Quite early he had fixed his affections on -Sarah, and during their long courtship he had never swerved. Plain, -business-like Sarah had drawn him after her as the moon draws the -willing tide.... - -She began to put away the things she had bought in Witham, stowing them -in a cupboard between the pot-rail and the door. During the morning she -had felt royally that she was buying half the town, but now she saw how -small her share of the marketing had been. There was a troubled feeling -at the back of her mind that something had been missed, and even though -she was sure of her purchases, she counted them again. Afterwards, she -stood muttering worriedly through the list ... tea, candles, a reel of -cotton ... and the rest. And then, suddenly, without any help from the -candles and cotton, she remembered what it was, and smiled at the -childish memory that would not stay asleep. - -More than twenty years, she reminded herself,--and yet she still looked -for the fairing that Geordie had brought her on Martinmas Day! There -had scarcely been any special season,--Christmas, Whitsun, Easter or -Mid-Lent,--but he had remembered to mark it by some frolicsome gift. He -had always withheld it from her until the last, and then had stood by -her laughing while she unwrapped some foolish monkey on dancing wires. -All the time he was saying how splendid the fairing was going to -be,--"It's gold, mother, real gold,--as bright as the King's crown!" -And when she had opened it, she would pretend to be cast down, and then -put it snugly away and say it was "real grand!" - -Jim had had his fairings for her, too, but she was trying her very -hardest not to remember those. Jim's had been prettier and more -thoughtful,--often of real use, but she had long since forgotten what -the things were like. A mug with her name on it, a handkerchief, a -brooch,--long ago broken or lost, or even given away. But every -ridiculous object of Geordie's was under lock and key, with even a bit -of camphor to keep the monkey from the moth.... - -She stood there smiling, softly folding her hands, as if she laid them -lightly over some sudden gift. On either side of her was a laughing -face, and even she found it hard to tell which was which. She was very -still as she made that perfect transition into the past, and the only -sound in her ears was through the lips that laughed. And then, into -that full stillness, in which no step moved or voice called or bird -flew, there came the cry of a heron outside the door. - - - - - III - - -It did not reach her at first. She heard it, indeed, coming back to the -present with the sound, but that Was all. The thing behind it had to -travel after her over twenty years. The cry of the heron was natural -enough, with a famous heronry so near, and it was only because of the -exceptional stillness of the night that it drew her attention now. Her -mind went mechanically to the high wood behind the Hall, to the -long-necked, slender-legged birds going home to the tall trees that on -this unstirred evening would be stiff as a witch's broom. She even had -time to remember the old legend of their battle with the rooks, before -the thing that had been running for twenty years entered her -consciousness with a rush. - -She stiffened then. From being softly still she became a rigid thing, -stiller than sleep, stiller than death, because it was passionate -will-power that held her still. It was already a moment or two since -the sound had passed, but it still rang in the ear which had seemed to -refuse to take it in. It had flashed through her brain like a bright -sword flung in a high arc through a night without a star, but the truth -that was behind it she held rigidly from her even as it tried to step -within. She knew that it was too low for a bird's call, too sharp and -clear in that muffle of mist, but she shut the knowledge out. She would -not let herself either breathe or think until she had heard the sound -again. - -The shock was as great the second time, but it had a different effect. -She began to tremble from head to foot; even her lips parted and shook; -her hands relaxed and began to pluck at her gown. Her breath came in -quick gasps that were almost sobs as her eyes strained towards the -darkness that held the door. Her brain kept telegraphing her body that -it must be still, but it was too strong for it, and paid no heed. Her -heart alone, beating in hard, ponderous strokes, seemed as if by itself -it must shut out any further sound; and when the call came the third -time, breaking the silence so that it could not close again, her own -power of restraint went by the board as well. Her hands lifted -themselves and gripped each other across her breast, and her voice, -shaken and full of tears, forced itself into her throat. "Jim!" she -heard herself saying, "Jim!"--with no knowledge that she had meant to -speak, and in that one word admitted the final defeat of all her life. - -Then the knocking began, the terrible brazen knocking which soulless -iron makes on the unresponsive door of an empty house. It was as if -whoever knocked frightened himself by the knocking, and tried to beat -away his fear with still louder blows. But to the woman who tried to -pretend that the house was really empty it was more terrible still. It -seemed to take on the sound of a summons to the soul itself to issue -forth. The noise of it flooded the place, echoed its way upstairs and -into far rooms, so that strange voices answered it sharply from wood and -stone. The heavy, storm-tried walls were suddenly no more than paper, -so that the knocking became folly when a push would have forced them in. -It seemed to Sarah that they must hear it from end to end of the marsh, -across at the 'Ship,' and out to the hidden edge of sea. She wondered -why Simon did not come running, and the dog break into hoarse barks, for -even in the far shippon they must surely hear. But there was only that -great knocking in all the world, cheerful, impatient, or resigned by -turn. It paused at moments, but only as the passing-bell pauses, Sarah -thought, waiting to speak its single word afresh. - -The noise had swept away in a moment both the false serenity of hate and -the almost falser calm of that dwelling memory of love. From the -respite, indeed, the live passion seemed to have sunk, as it were, on -its haunches for a fiercer leap. She could not think clearly or control -her limbs under the sudden impact of its spring. It seemed to fling -itself on her as she had seen the tides in the winter crash against the -wall. She, too, went under as if the water had beaten her down, and the -noise at the door became the blows of the waves and the roar of the -dragged beach. - -She had that impulse to laughter which comes with long-expected woe, as -if the gods were guilty of bathos when they stooped at last to strike. -Scorn is the first sensation of those who seem to have watched the -springs of action long before the hour. Sudden sorrows, quick blows -have a majesty of their own, as if the gifts of the gods made for honour -in good or ill. But long-deferred trouble, like suspended joy, has a -meaner quality in fulfilment, and a subtle humiliation in its ache. -That when the gods come they come quickly is true for both libations -from the emptied cup. Royal sorrows, like royal joys, fall swift as -thunderbolts from heaven. - -She had always known in her heart that there was no fighting Blindbeck -luck, that even the dregs of it were more potent than the best of the -Sandholes brand. It could hardly fail to reach even across the sea, so -that one of the failures would be less of a failure than the other in -the end. The trouble of being the under-dog too long is that even the -dog himself begins at last to think it his rightful place. For all her -dreaming and lying on Geordie's behalf, she would have found it hard to -believe in his ultimate success. Not for nothing had Eliza carefully -tended her Method all this while, and watered it weekly with the Simons' -tears. - -At first she told herself that she would put out the light, and let the -knocker knock until he was tired. Perhaps he would open the door and -step inside, but the darkness would surely thrust him out again. He -might even go to the foot of the stairs and call, until the silence -itself put a hand upon his throat. But already the strain was more than -she could bear, and each blow as it came was a blow on her own heart. -She tried to move, but was afraid of the sound of her own feet, and it -was only under the cover of fresh knocking that she made the effort at -last. Now she was facing the door which she could not see, though she -knew its panels like the palm of her hand. Behind it, she felt the -knocking ring on her brain, but now she had come within range of a more -persistent power than that. Plainly, through the wooden barrier that -was raised between them, she felt the presence of the man who stood -without. - -There is always an effort, a faint dread, about the opening of a door, -as if the one who entered were admitted to more than a room. From each -personality that enters even for a moment into one's life something is -always involuntarily received. The opening is only a symbol of the more -subtle admission of the two, which leaves an intruder behind when the -actual bodily presence has passed away. And of all openings there is -none that includes such realisation and such risk as that which lets in -the night and a stranger's face. - -And then suddenly the knocking ceased, as if the knocker was now as -aware of her presence as she of his. They were like enemies, crouched -on either side of a barricade; or like lovers, so near and yet so far, -in the last, long second before the bars are down. Each waited for a -breath, a touch, a turn of the hand that would bring the flash of the -final blow or the thrill of the first kiss. - -Their consciousness of each other was so strong that she knew at once -when he lifted his arm again, just as he knew when she stirred in fear -of the fresh attack. The latch gave its loose, metallic clink as she -raised it and let it drop, and then the door began to open with the -almost human grudging of old doors. The stranger put out a hand to help -it on its way, and with a harsh shriek that sounded like protest it -dragged across the flags. - -At once the bulk of his big form was in the open square, substantial -even in the dissolving light. There was a last pause as the shock of -the actual meeting smote upon their minds, and then his voice, cheerful -and loud as the knocking, flooded the house. - -"Everybody dead here?" he demanded gaily, bending forward to peer at the -figure set like a statue just inside. The tone of his voice, deep and -kindly, had yet a touch of nervousness at its back. The strain of the -waiting had told upon him as well as on her. "Say, you _are_ real, -ain't you?" he enquired sharply, and then laughed. "Mercy! I sure -thought everybody must be dead!" - -Sarah had another shock at the sound of his voice, topped by the accent -from over the pond as the deep note of flood is topped by the thinner -note of the surf. She had listened instinctively for the -Jim-an'-Geordie voice, but this was the voice of neither Geordie nor -Jim. It was as strange to her who knew nothing of other peoples' speech -as if it had been a voice from another star. She shrank away from him, -saying--"I thought it was Jim." And then, almost violently, "You're -never Jim!" - -The man laughed a second time, but more naturally, as if reassured the -moment he heard her speak. "I sure am!" he answered her joyfully. "Why -shouldn't I be? Leastways, I'm all of Jim Thornthet that's managed to -swim across!" The smile stayed on his lips as he stared, but died when -she did not respond. "May I come in a spell?" he enquired anxiously. -"I've only struck England to-day, and I've a bag of news." - -But again she blocked the entrance as she had blocked it for May. It -was the way into herself as well as into the house that these people -sought, and she yielded to neither of them by an inch. "You can get -out, if you're Jim," she said caustically, "and as smart as you like! -Blindbeck's your spot. We want nowt wi' you here." - -The sharp words did not depress him, however. They were too reminiscent -of old time. - -"That's a real mean Howdy!" he answered her humorously, advancing a -foot. "'Tisn't like Westmorland folk to keep folk tugging at the -latch.... Shucks for Blindbeck!" he added laughingly, as she began the -word again. "Sandholes is my little old home,--always was, and always -will be." He advanced further, a merry, teasing note in his big voice. -"You can't keep me out, old woman! You never could. I'm coming right -in, old woman! ... I'm sure coming.... I'm right in!" - -It was true, too. He was in the passage now, making his way by a force -of desire stronger than May's entreating love. Something else helped -him as well, perhaps,--some old extorted freedom of house and board. He -put out his hand to Sarah as he turned to the light, but she shrank away -from him against the wall. - -"I won't have you in t'house!" she cried angrily to his dim form. "Be -off with you now, and look sharp about it!" - -But again he seemed to be pleasantly cheered by her wrath, as if with a -happy echo from the past. - -"I'll shin off right quick when I've had a word," he coaxed. "Come on -in, old woman, and look at me where there's a bit more sun!" The -flickering light seemed to beckon him on, for he began to move towards -its dim dwelling. "I've news of Geordie for you," he called back to her, -as she did not stir. "You'll sure be wanting to hear that!" - -She heard him pass into the kitchen, his firm, confident tread raising a -ring from every flag, and wondered, as with the knocking, why it did not -carry all over the marsh. But still she stayed behind, fighting with -herself and with the longing to hear his news. It could be of nothing -but failure, she reminded herself, and her heart answered that that -would be better than nothing at all. She heard him walking about the -kitchen, as if he walked from this memory to that, peering into old -cupboards and laying a hand upon old chairs. Presently, however, there -came a silence as if he had seen enough, and, in a sudden panic lest he -should be gone, she hurried after him into the room. - -At once, as she went in, she traced the shape of him on the hearth, -though she could not see his huge shadow that climbed the ceiling and -swamped the wall. Clearly, too, she could feel his dominant personality -all about, too heady a wine for the frail, cob webbed bottle of the -place. Paused on the hearth, he was still looking around him with a -wistful, humorous smile. He was thinking, as all think who return, how -strong and yet how slender was the chain, how futile and yet how -tenacious were the humble things which had held him through the years! -He was thinking, too, how amazingly tiny everything had grown,--the -house, the kitchen, and the old woman within the door. Even the stretch -of sand, which he could vaguely see, seemed narrow to him who had known -much greater wastes. - -He turned his smiling eyes suddenly to Sarah's face. - -"How's the old man, by the way? Still keeping uppermost of the weeds?" - -"He's nobbut middlin', that's all," she forced herself to reply. - -"Is he anywhere about?" - -"Like enough ... but you needn't wait." - -"I'd like a chin with him, all the same!" He hugged himself as he stood -on the hearth, and his huge shadow hugged itself on the wall. The same -mischievous sound crept back into his voice. "I'm mighty glad to see -you again, old woman, I am that! Perhaps you'll feel like slinging me a -smile or two after a bit." - -"Eliza'll smile, I'll warrant, if you've nobbut a pound or two in your -poke." - -"I have that--sure!" He slapped his coat as he spoke, laughing a great -laugh which shook her as cruelly as his knock. "It's up to me to keep -my pockets stitched, nowadays," he finished, in a contented tone. - -"I'm main glad to hear it," she said sardonically, and he nodded gaily. - -"That's real nice of you, old woman! You can keep right on. You'd a -terrible down on me in the old days, hadn't you now?" - -"I've no use for you, Jim Thornthwaite, and never had. You know that as -well as me." - -"That's so!" He laughed again. "But I was always mighty fond of -_you_." He made a movement as if to cross to her side, but she backed -instantly, as if she guessed. "Of course, you'd a deal rather it had -been Geordie," he said. "I know that. But he was never much of a -sparkle in the family tarara, and that's honest. I left him serving in -a store,--poor lad Geordie,--and hankering like honey after the old -spot!" - -"And you left him behind," Sarah flung at him,--"you wi' brass?" - -"He wouldn't take a red cent. I looked him up as soon as I struck it -rich, but he was always set on hoeing his own row. He'd have taken it -from his own folks, but he wouldn't from me. Guess it was Blindbeck -hate in him coming out at last! But if ever he'd had the dollars, he'd -have been home before you could hear him shout." - -"He's best where he is," Sarah said coldly, repenting her charge. -Eliza's son should not see that she grudged or cared. "Them as makes -beds can likely lie on the straw." - -"Well, Blindbeck luck still holds, anyway!" Jim smiled. "See here!" He -put his hand in the great-coat that seemed to hide from her that he was -a creature of flesh and blood, and instantly she heard the rustle of -notes. He opened the big pocket-book under the light, running his hand -over the clean slips with joyous pride. "Don't that talk?" he said -cheerfully. "Doesn't it sure talk?" and in spite of her resolve she -shrank from the crisp, unaccustomed sound. - -"Good enough, eh?" he demanded warmly,--"and there's plenty more behind! -That's only to pass the time o' day with, so to speak. Guess it'll do -for a fairing for my old mother, that's about all." He snapped the -elastic again and flung the book on the table, so that it slid across -within Sarah's reach. Lifting his eyes he met her gaze fixed blindly -upon his face, and his brow contracted as he puzzled over that hard, -unrecognising stare. - -"Can't we sit down for a spell?" he asked her coaxingly, turning back to -the hearth. "I feel real unwanted, standing on my hind legs." - -"Eliza'll be waiting on you," Sarah said, through a stiff throat. - -"She's waited twenty years." He laid a hand on a chair, and pulled it -nearer to the warmth. It protested violently when it felt his weight, -but he settled himself snugly, and did not care. The fire, as if -heartened at sight of him on the hearth, changed its cold yellow for a -crimson glow. - -"It's good to be home," he said happily,--"good as a Sunday-school, -treat,--sure!" He pulled his pipe from his pocket, and began to fill it -meditatively, with quiet hands.... "Now, if it had been Geordie that -had struck it rich, it would have been a real hum for you, wouldn't it, -old woman? Guess I feel real mean, for your sake, that it's only me. -Guess I could almost wish it was Geordie out and out!" - -He leaned forward with the firelight on his face, looking at her with -the same smile that was like a hand that he reached out. - -"He was always making a song," he said, "about what he'd do when he -struck it rich. 'I'll be off home that slick you'll hear the bump,' he -used to say, 'and I'll be planning all the way how I'll burn the cash!' -I'd like to buy the farm for the old dad;--guess Squire'd part all right -if I could pass him enough. As for the old woman, there's just no end -to what I'd do,--glad rags and brooches, and help all round the house. -It'd be just Heaven and Witham Gala, playing Providence to the old -woman! ... That's what I want my brass for, when I strike it rich!'" - -"A fool's dream!" Sarah said. - -"A fine fool's dream." - -"Them as dreams over much likely never does nowt else." - -He leaned forward still further, the smile more urgent on his lips. -"There was only one thing used to fret him," he went on, "and he spent a -powerful lot of time thinking about it, and wearing himself thin. -'S'pose she don't know me when I sail in?' he used to say. 'S'pose I'm -that changed I might as well be any other mother's son as well as hers? -There's a mighty pile o' years between us,--big, terrible years! I'd -sure break my heart if she didn't know me right off, even if I'd grown a -face like a pump-handle and a voice like a prize macaw! But I guess I -needn't trouble,' he used to say, 'because mothers always know. I've -got that slick by heart,--they always know.'" He waited a moment, and -then pressed on, with a note that was like alarm. "Say, he was right, -wa'n't he?"--he asked anxiously,--"dead right? It's a sure cinch that -mothers always know?" - -The force of his demand seemed almost to shake the obstinate figure so -cynically aloof. It was as if he were prompting her to something that -she knew as well as he, but would not admit for some reason of her own. -Even after he had stopped speaking the demand seemed to persist, and she -answered at last with a cold smile on her hard face. - -"Nay, my lad," she said sneeringly, "you needn't put yourself about! -Eliza'll be fain to see you, wherever you got your brass. She'll know -you well enough, never fret, wi' yon pack o' cards in your hand!" - -His smile died as if she had struck him,--the whole laughing pleasure of -him died. "I worked for it honest," he said in reply, but his voice -sounded dull and tired. Even in the dusk she might have seen the spirit -go out of him, the lines in his face deepen, his head sink, his -shoulders droop. The merry boy that had come into the house was gone, -leaving the stern man of middle age. Sarah could not see what she had -done to him, but she could feel the change. Scenes with Jim in the old -days had always ended much as this. Many a time he had come to her full -of affection and fun, and in a few moments she had slain them both. He -had looked up at her with hurt eyes that still laughed because they -couldn't do anything else, and had held to his old cry--"I'm _your_ lad -_really_, Aunt Sarah,--same as Geordie is!" - -He sat for a few minutes staring at the floor, his pipe with its filled -bowl hanging idly from his hand. He seemed to be adjusting himself to -new ideas, painfully making room for them by throwing overboard the old. -Then he rose to his feet with a half-sigh, half-yawn,--and laughed. -Sarah heard him, and started,--it was so like the old-time Jim! But -though she might have winced in the old days, it did not trouble her -now. If she had had no tenderness for the scapegrace lad she was not -likely to pity the grown, successful man.... Without looking at her -again he went across to the window and stared out. The pane swung open -wide on its bent rod, and not a breath of wind troubled its buckled -frame. Across the vanished sands the light still glowed from the -'Ship,' red on the dark that seemed like a mere dissolution of -everything into mist. - -"Old Fleming still at the 'Ship'?" he enquired, keeping his back turned. -"And May?" His voice warmed again on the little name. "May's married -this many a year, I guess!" - -"Nay, not she!" Sarah said. "She's not wed, nor like to be." -Unconsciously she relaxed a little. "She was always terble sweet on -Geordie, was May." - -The man looking out smiled at the light as if it had been a face. He -spoke low, as if speaking to himself. - -"I'd sure forgot!" - -"I reckon she's waiting for him yet, but I doubt she'll wait till the -Judgment, and after that!" - -"She was always a sticker, was May...." He swung round, cheerful again, -though lacking the ecstasy with which he had come in. "Sweet on -Geordie, was she? Well, I guess a live dog's better than a dead lion! -I'll hop across for a chin." - -"You'll loss yourself, crossing t'sand." - -"I've crossed it every night in my dreams!" He came back to her, with -his face tender again, the thin flame of the candle showing his pleasant -eyes and kindly lips. "Say, though!" he added anxiously. "I can come -back?" - -"Best bide at t' 'Ship.'" - -"But I'd a deal rather sleep here!" - -"Well, you wain't, and that's flat!" - -"There's Geordie's bed, ain't there?" he urged her, in pleading tones. -"I'll lay you've kept it fixed for him all along!" - -"Ay,--for Geordie!" said Geordie's mother, setting her mouth. - -"Couldn't you kinder think I was Geordie once in a while?" - -"Nay." - -"Not for a mite of a minute?" His voice shook. - -"Nay, not I!" - -He lifted his shoulders, and let them droop again. "I'm sure coming -back, though!" he finished, in his persistent way.... "Stop a shake, -though! What about the tide?" - -His eyes turned from old custom to the table over the hearth, and, -crossing over to it, he struck a light. The silver box in his hand -flashed a tiny scintilla on the dusky air. He looked up at the table, -but he did not see it, the match dwindling above his brooding face. - -"You might ha' been just a mite glad to see me!" he exclaimed wistfully, -stamping it out upon the flags. "Why, you'd never ha' known me from -Adam if I hadn't given you the call! It'll give me the knock right out -if May don't know me neither when I sail in. They say sweethearts don't -forget, no more than mothers, but perhaps it's all a doggoned lie!" - -"She was Geordie's lass,--not yours!" Sarah told him, with jealous -haste. - -"Sure!" he said with a smile, and struck a second match. - -Now he looked at the table in earnest, but only for a space. -"Saturday," she heard him murmuring, in an absent voice. "Martinmas, -ain't it? ... Tide at ten...." - -She made a movement forward and put out her hands. - -"Nay, but yon's never----" she began; and stopped. - -"Eh, old woman?" - -"Nay, it's nowt." - -"It's Saturday, ain't it?" - -"I reckon it is." - -"Saturday's my day for luck," she heard him saying, as the match died -down. "I've got a cinch on Saturdays, that's sure!" The gaiety in his -tone was only a mockery of what it had been before. "Tide at ten, -eh?--and it's six, now." He drew his watch from his pocket and gave it -a glance. "Well, so long! I'll be right back!" - -To both the moments seemed endless in which he moved across the floor. -His look dwelt upon her in a last effort to reach her heart, and then -lingered about the room on the dim fellowships of his youth. But even -Geordie himself could hardly have touched her in that hour. The -strongest motive that had ruled her life had her finally by the throat. - -Yet she called to him even as he went, afraid, woman-like, of the sound -of the shut door. "Jim!" she flung after him. "Jim, lad! ... Jim!" - -"Say! Did you call?" He was back again on wings. - -"Nay ... it was nowt." She indicated the pocket-book within reach of -her hand. "You'd best take yon truck along wi' you an' all." - -Even in his disappointment he was still able to smile. "It don't need a -safe between it and a Thornthet, I guess!" was all he said. In that -moment, indeed, the money was nothing and less than nothing to them -both. Sarah was honest to the core, and never remembered once that dead -men tell no tales and that the sea does not betray.... The thing that -had conquered her soul was at least also above that. - -"Ten, wa'n't it?" he asked, drifting reluctantly out again. His voice -came from further away, like the gull's voice from the sky. "So long! -Cheero! I'll be back again with the tide...." - - - - - IV - - -She heard rather than felt the silence re-enfold the house, like the -swish of a curtain softly tumbled down. She was vividly on the alert -for every change in the brooding quiet, but she was not afraid of the -inevitable sound that must shortly break it again. To herself she -seemed to be shut into the very heart of things, where everyone knows -his secret hiding-place to be. Nothing could hurt her there, because it -was shut away from pain. Neither remorse nor fear could touch her in -that calm. - -Yet all the time her mind had followed the man who had gone out, hearing -the thud of his feet on the sandy ground, and seeing the bulk of him -huge on the sea-wall. The sound of his feet would be sharper on the -beach, but when he got to the sand it would be muffled as if with -cloths. When he came to the channel he would stand and hail, and the -light from the 'Ship' would lie on the water like a road.... - -But never to-night or in all time would he get as far as the bank. -Suddenly, as he walked, he would hear a whisper out of the west. It -would mean nothing to him at first, nor the wind feeling along his -cheek. He would only say to himself that the trees were astir on the -far point. Then he would hear a noise like a coming shower, and lift up -his face to meet the first of the rain. But the sound that came after -would come running along the sand, until every rib was vibrating its -message to his feet. When he knew what it was, he would stand perfectly -still, and then he would spring in the air and start to run. But, run -as he might, he would never reach the shore, or stand on the gold road -that would take him over to May. The white tide-horses were swifter far -than he; their unshod hoofs would outrun his heavy boots. The sweeping -advance-water would suddenly hem him in, swirling before his feet and -shooting behind his back. He would run this way and that in the dark, -but it would be no use. He would run and run, but it would never be any -use.... - -From complete detachment she passed gradually to a comforting sense of -quittance and ease. It was as if a burden that she had carried all her -life had been cut away, so that she could lift up her head and look in -front of her and breathe free. The sickening jealousy was gone, the -gnawing pain at her heart, the fierce up-swelling of decimating rage, -the long, narrowed-down brooding of helpless hate. Never again would -she be able to see herself as the poor relation fawning at Eliza's -skirts. The thing had been done at last which paid Eliza in full. - -She had, as she came back within range of feeling again, one last, great -moment of exultant pride. She seemed to herself actually to grow in -size, to tower in the low room as the shadow of the home-comer had -towered over ceiling and wall. Into the hands of this oppressed and -poverty-stricken woman there had suddenly been given the heady power of -life and death, and the stimulant of it was like wine in her thin blood, -making her heart steady as a firm-blown forge. She felt strong enough -in that moment to send every child of Eliza's out to its death in the -maw of the Night Wave. She felt an epic figure poised on the edge of -the world, heroic, tremendous, above all laws. Indeed, she seemed, as -it were, to be the very Finger of God itself.... - -And then faintly the exultation sank; dimmed, rather, as on a summer day -the sharpness goes out of the high lights on lawn and wall. The sun is -not gone, but the farthest and finest quality of it is suddenly -withdrawn. In some such way a blurring of vivid certainties came upon -her brain. A breath of wind was blown sharply through the open window, -and with a touch of surprise she found that she was cold. The fire, so -lately encouraged by the visitor's presence, had died sulkily into grey -clinkers tinged with red that had no more warmth to it than a splash of -paint. The candle, on the other hand, had sprung into a tall flame from -a high wick. It was as if it was making a last effort to illumine the -world for the woman over whose mind was creeping that vague and blurring -mist. - -With the slackening of the mental tension her physical self slackened, -too. She began to rock to and fro, muttering softly as she swayed. - -"Blind thoughts in a blind body's brain!" she was saying to herself.... -"Ay, it's about time. A blind night and a blind tide.... Ay, it's -about time...." - -And yet through the blind night and with her blind sight she still saw -the figure swinging over the sands, broad, confident, strong, as were -all at Blindbeck,--successful and rich. Always her mind kept close at -its back, seeing the solid print of it on the air, feeling the muscular -firmness of its tread, and hearing the little whistled tune that kept -escaping between its teeth.... - -Suddenly she raised her voice, as if addressing somebody a long way off. - -"What d'you want wi' a bed as'll never sleep in bed again? Nay, my lad, -you'll have nowt but churchyard mould! ... Yon's if they find him, when -the tide comes in. There'll be a bonny fairing for Eliza when the tide -comes in!" - -She stopped abruptly as Simon clattered into the room, holding herself -motionless by a final effort of will. He glanced uneasily at the still -figure, the unspread table and the dead fire, but he did not speak. He -was still conscious of guilt and ready to make amends, even to the -extent of going supperless to bed. Outside the door, he had felt -curiously certain that Sarah was not alone, and even now he looked into -corners for figures that were not there. Coming in from the dark on the -marsh, his instinct had told him instantly that the atmosphere had -changed, but the knowledge faded once he was well inside. He wondered -whether anything had been done with the milk, but did not like to ask, -and, setting the still-lighted lantern on the floor, stooped to unloose -his boots. - -"All yon talk about Geordie's fair give me the jumps!" he remarked -suddenly, with an embarrassed laugh. "I could ha' sworn I heard his -voice as I was snecking shuppon door!" - -She did not answer, and with an inward curse at his own foolishness he -bent lower over his boots. "Another o' yon big tides," he went on -hurriedly, when the thongs were loosed. "It's sharp on t'road now. I -could hear it as I come in." - -Even as he spoke the room was suddenly filled with the sound of the sea. -Before the majesty of the coming presence the whole house seemed to -cringe and cower. Sarah felt the room swing round with her, and caught -at the table, gripping the edge of it until her very fingers seemed of -wood. - -"There it be!" Simon said, raising himself. "It's big, as I said." He -clanked across to the window as he spoke, the laces slapping and -trailing on the flags, and again, as he put his face to the square, the -wind that blows before the tide stirred mightily through the room. -Far-off, but coming fast, they could hear the messenger from the deep, -sweeping its garment over the head of the crouched waste, as it sped to -deliver its challenge at the locked gate of the sea-wall. - -Sarah had still control over her actual body, but no more. With Simon's -entrance she had realised herself again, and knew that she was weak and -old, with a mind that had got beyond her, and cried and ran to and fro -as Jim would run when he heard the Wave. Always she seemed to herself -to be close at his back, but now she ran to warn him and stumbled as she -ran. She flung out her arms towards him in an aching passion to hold -him close, and in that moment felt the truth drop, stilly, into her -whirling brain. He turned his face towards her swiftly as they went, -and for all its likeness it was not Jim's face. She saw him swept and -helpless in the swirl of the tide, and in the dark and the tumult knew -that the precious body was not Jim's. She saw him borne in the -stillness of morning to the haunted Tithe-Barn where all the drowned -were laid, and by the light of the truth that there is between living -and dead knew she had always known it was not Jim.... - -"I hope May's gitten back," Simon was saying anxiously, as he peered -out. "I hope she's landed back...." Presently he leaned further, and -gave a sigh of relief. "Ay,--there goes Fleming's lamp!" - -Instantly, as the light went out, there came from the sands a whistle -and then a cry. Simon spun round, saying, "What's yon?" with a -frightened look, and when the call came again he snatched the lantern -from the floor. The third call came suddenly faint, as if its author -were running towards the tide, and with a harsh cry a gull swept white -and huge beyond the pane. Simon fell back at the sight of it, crying -aloud, and throwing his arm before his eyes. - -But at the same moment Sarah burst her bonds. "Geordie, Geordie!" she -screamed, and ran frenziedly to the door. "Nay, it's over now," she -finished, falling back against the wall. "Gang out and seek our -fairing, master,--mine and thine!" - - - - - PRINTED AT - WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD. - PLYMOUTH. ENGLAND - - - - - ---- - - - - - CONSTANCE HOLME'S NOVELS - - -CRUMP FOLK GOING HOME - -6s. net - -"Miss Holme has an unusual sense of character, a fine sincerity, an -exquisite feeling for the country-side and its traditions. Moreover, -there is a literary and poetic grace in her writing that adds to the -charm of her notable work. 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