Martin was still very silent, but he
liked the air with the tang of the sea in it, and he asked sometimes
about the names of places. As they drew nearer and nearer to all the
old--remembered scenes, Maggie's heart beat faster and faster--this
lane, that field, that cottage. And then, at last, there was the
Vicarage perched on the top of the hill, with its chimneys like
cats' ears!
She thought of Uncle Mathew. The sight of the tranquil evening the
happiness and comfort of the fields enabled her to think of him, for
the first time, quietly. She could face deliberately his death. It
was as though he had been waiting for her here and had come forward
to reassure her.
They drove through the quiet little village, out on to the high
road, then down a side lane, the hedges brushing against the sides
of the jingle, then through the gates, into the yard, with Borhedden
Farm, bright with its lighted windows, waiting for them.
Mrs. Bolitho was standing in the porch and greeted them warmly.
"You'll be just starved," she said. "It's wisht work driving in an
open jingle all the way from Clinton. Supper's just about ready.
Pages:
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893