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At last the wedding-day camean afternoon in May, gloriously white and blue. Naomi stood before her mirror with delicious qualms, while one or two girl friends took the place of her mother and helped her to dress. She wore white silk, very full in the skirt, with a bunch of lilies of the valley in the folds of the bodice, which was cut low, showing the soft neck that in contrast to the dead white of the silk had taken a delicious creamy cowslip tint. Her lovable white hat was trimmed with artificial lilies of the valley, and she had white kid gloves and tiny white kid shoes.Alice said nothing, and Reuben fired up a little:
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THREE:"Holy Father," said she, sinking on her knees before him, and raising up a countenance which exhibited the traces of deep, mental suffering: "Holy Father, hear me? This entire day, have I been watching for you.Oh, do not leave me!" she continued in agony, as the monk, disengaging his habit from her grasp, with a shudder of disgust would have hurried on. "Oh! do not leave me?" she repeated, clinging to his dress. "Have I not heard, when it was permitted me to enter the house of prayer, that the Blessed Lord had suffered a sinful woman to kneel at his feet and wash them with her tears! Alas! she could not be as sinful as I, but"she bent down her face upon her hands

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THREE:"Stephen Holgrave, my lord, has not yet finished his fealty."

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THREE:"Richard's made his fortune by quitting Odiam. 'Tis a good place, but he'd never have done half so valiant for himself if he'd stayed."She gulped at pleasure, and she gave him so much that he could not deny her what she craved for, though the mere decorativeness of her tastes amazed and sometimes appalled him. She coaxed him to buy her new curtains and chair-covers for the parlour, and to turn it into a room which could be used, where she could lounge in her pretty frocks, and entertain her women-friendsof whom she had a startling numberto afternoon tea, with cream, and little cakes that cost an amount of money altogether disproportionate to the space that they filled in one's inside. She demanded other entertainments toovisits to Rye, and even to Hastings, and jaunts to fairs other than the sanctioned one on Boarzell.

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THREE:"Yes, my lord."She fell against the wall, and her hair, disordered by embraces, suddenly streamed over her shoulders. The sight of it made Reuben wild.
THREE:"Look here, farmer," said one of the young men"we're awfully sorry, and we'll settle with you about that cow. We were only having a rag. We're awfully sorry.""Noyou're justabout right there. I ought to be able to wed Naomi next April year, and then, motherthink of the dear liddle house we shall live in, you and she and I, all wud our own fields and garn, and no trouble, and Ben carrying through his own silly consarns here by himself."
THREE:"He's bin reading some poetry of yours, Bertie," continued his sister, "and he's justabout dreadful, all his cl?athes tore about, and a nasty mess of blood and yaller stuff on his face."
THREE:But it was too late. There was a sudden roar, a sheet of flame, a crash, a dreadful scream, and then a far more dreadful silence.
THREE:At last they came to Castweaselthree old cottages and a ruined one, leaning together in a hollow like mushrooms. Beside the ruined cottage a tree-trunk was lying, and Rose suddenly stretched herself with a little sigh."You can't keep me out here. It isn't my fault I'm lateand I'm not so very late, either."
THREE:"There was an old Farmer in Sussex did dwell,Reuben did not care much for these doings; they were, he thought, a mere appeal to scum, and he preferred to give his mind to weightier things. He organised meetings in the furthest hamlets of the district, and managed to stir up the interest of the farmers to such a pitch that it soon looked as if the Tory candidate would carry all before him. MacKinnon could not open his mouth on the platform without shouts of: "Wheat at seventy shillings a quarter!" or "What's the use of a big loaf if we've got no money to buy it with?"

ONE:Alice was deadshe had died in his hour of triumph. Just when he had succeeded in laying his hands on one thing more of goodness and glory for Odiam, she who had nothing and wanted nothing had gone out into the great nothingness. A leaden weight seemed to have fallen on him, for all that he was "shut of her."After all, fifty pounds and some furniture was very little to leave his only niece, who had lived with him, and had been married from his house. It was nonsense to plead the excuse that she was comfortably settled and provided forthe old man knew that Backfield had made a desperate plunge and could not recoup himself properly without ready money. He must have drawn up his will in the spirit of maliceReuben could imagine him grinning away in his grave. "Well, Ben Backfield, I've justabout sold you nicely, haven't I?next to no capital, tedious heavy expenses, and a wife who d?an't know the difference between a shilling and a soverun. You thought you'd done yourself unaccountable well, old feller, I reckon. Now you've found out your mistake. And you can't git even wud me where I am. He! He!"

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ONE:"I think she said her name was Holgrave," replied the lady in a cold tone. "But indeed, my lord baron, you seem to be wondrously well acquainted with the faces and the handywork of your vassals' wives!"
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TWO:She mounted on her master's boar,

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And he carried a prayer from the lad of the Manor,He had trouble, too, with his new grass. One of his Jersey cows suddenly died, and it turned out that it[Pg 94] had eaten some poisonous plant which had insinuated itself into the pasture. It was as if Boarzell fought treacherouslywith stabbings in the dark as well as blastings in the open. The night the Jersey died, Reuben sat with his head buried in his arms on the kitchen table, while Naomi carried her Miss Fanny about the room, and told her about the beautiful silk gowns she would wear when she grew up."This is not satisfactory proof," said Oxford."Yes, that's itinstead of spending twenty minnut at your breakfast, you spend forty. You idle away my time wud your hemmed tricks, and I w?an't have it, I tell you, I w?an't have it. Lord! when I wur your age, I wur running the whole of this farm aloneevery str?ak of work, I did it. I didn't go wasting time over my meals, and writing rubbidge fur low-down Gladstone p?apers. Now d?an't you go sassing me back, you young good-fur-nothing, or I'll flay you, surelye!"
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