III + 

Now they had left the high-road and were making southeast 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 grassland 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 today 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 today 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 tonight 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 mainline 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. + 

Today, 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 today, 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, today!” + 

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 latecomers with a single, focused 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 passersby, 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 wallpaper 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 inglenook, 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 forever 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 teapot 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 teapot 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 seawater 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. Today 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 today 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’ secondhand preaching from some as happen never went to school at all.” + 

Mr. Addison 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 teaspoon 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, today. 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. Today, 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.⁠ ⁠… + 