Among all these soft sounds came not the only soft sound he cared
to hear--the footfall of Elfride.
For a whole quarter of an hour Stephen sat thus intent, without
moving a muscle. At the end of that time he walked to the west
front of the church. Turning the corner of the tower, a white
form stared him in the face. He started back, and recovered
himself. It was the tomb of young farmer Jethway, looking still
as fresh and as new as when it was first erected, the white stone
in which it was hewn having a singular weirdness amid the dark
blue slabs from local quarries, of which the whole remaining
gravestones were formed.
He thought of the night when he had sat thereon with Elfride as
his companion, and well remembered his regret that she had
received, even unwillingly, earlier homage than his own. But his
present tangible anxiety reduced such a feeling to sentimental
nonsense in comparison; and he strolled on over the graves to the
border of the churchyard, whence in the daytime could be clearly
seen the vicarage and the present residence of the Swancourts. No
footstep was discernible upon the path up the hill, but a light
was shining from a window in the last-named house.
Stephen knew there could be no mistake about the time or place,
and no difficulty about keeping the engagement. He waited yet
longer, passing from impatience into a mood which failed to take
any account of the lapse of time.
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