A sudden
blight had fallen over her, as though she had brought the presence of
death with her out of that still chamber. Every sound was hushed into
silence, every object appeared as unsubstantial as a shadow. Beyond the
lawn, over the jewelled meadows, she could see the white spire of Old
Church rising above the coloured foliage in the churchyard, and beyond
it, the flat ashen turnpike, which had led hundreds of adventurous feet
toward the great world they were seeking. She remembered that the sight
of the turnpike had once made her restless; now it brought her only a
promise of peace.
Turning at the sound of a step on the dead leaves, she saw that Abel
had entered the garden, and was approaching her along one of the
winding paths. When he reached her, he spoke quickly without taking her
outstretched hand. The sun was in his eyes and he lowered them to the
over-blown roses in a square of box.
"I came over earlier," he said, "but I couldn't see any one except Mr.
Chamberlayne."
"He told me you would come back. That was why I waited."
For a moment he seemed to struggle for breath. Then he said quickly.
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