She was induced to lift them by hearing the brush of light and
irregular footsteps hard by. Passing along the path which
intersected the one she was in and traversed the outer
shrubberies, Elfride beheld the farmer's widow, Mrs. Jethway.
Before she noticed Elfride, she paused to look at the house,
portions of which were visible through the bushes. Elfride,
shrinking back, hoped the unpleasant woman might go on without
seeing her. But Mrs. Jethway, silently apostrophizing the house,
with actions which seemed dictated by a half-overturned reason,
had discerned the girl, and immediately came up and stood in front
of her.
'Ah, Miss Swancourt! Why did you disturb me? Mustn't I trespass
here?'
'You may walk here if you like, Mrs. Jethway. I do not disturb
you.'
'You disturb my mind, and my mind is my whole life; for my boy is
there still, and he is gone from my body.'
'Yes, poor young man. I was sorry when he died.'
'Do you know what he died of? '
'Consumption.'
'Oh no, no!' said the widow. 'That word "consumption" covers a
good deal. He died because you were his own well-agreed
sweetheart, and then proved false--and it killed him. Yes, Miss
Swancourt,' she said in an excited whisper, 'you killed my son!'
'How can you be so wicked and foolish!' replied Elfride, rising
indignantly. But indignation was not natural to her, and having
been so worn and harrowed by late events, she lost any powers of
defence that mood might have lent her.
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