I come to tell yee.
[STRANGWAY motions to him in silence. And, very slowly, JIM
BERE passes out.]
[The voices of men coming down the green are heard.]
VOICES. Gude night, Tam. Glide naight, old Jim!
VOICES. Gude might, Mr. Trustaford. 'Tes a wonderful fine mune.
VOICE OF TRUSTAFORD. Ah! 'Tes a brave mune for th' poor old curate!
VOICE. "My 'eart 'E lighted not!"
[TRUSTAFORD'S laugh, and the rattling, fainter and fainter, of
wheels. A spasm seizes on STRANGWAY'S face, as he stands there
by the open door, his hand grips his throat; he looks from side
to side, as if seeking a way of escape.]
CURTAIN.
SCENE II
The BURLACOMBES' high and nearly empty barn. A lantern is hung
by a rope that lifts the bales of straw, to a long ladder
leaning against a rafter. This gives all the light there is,
save for a slender track of moonlight, slanting in from the end,
where the two great doors are not quite closed. On a rude bench
in front of a few remaining, stacked, square-cut bundles of last
year's hay, sits TIBBY JARLAND, a bit of apple in her mouth,
sleepily beating on a tambourine. With stockinged feet GLADYS,
IVY, CONNIE, and MERCY, TIM CLYST, and BOBBIE JARLAND, a boy of
fifteen, are dancing a truncated "Figure of Eight"; and their
shadow are dancing alongside on the walls.
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