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As for Reuben, he worked as hard as ever, but never spoke of it to his wife. He seemed to enjoy her society at meals, and now and then would take her out for a stroll along the lanes, or sit with her in the evening by the kitchen fire. Once more he liked to have her read him the papers; and though she understood no more than she had ever done, her voice had ceased to be dull and fretful. Then at night he would go up to his attic and drink in the smell of gorse at the window, till he grew drowsy and shut himself in with the smell of apples.

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"Nothing, II'm going upstairs. Let me pass, please."Reuben turned brick-red with indignation.
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THREE:"Base-born knave! do you think you wear a coat of mail in that hypocritical garb. Ho! Calverley, let the woman be instantly transmitted to Gloucester castle, that my lord abbot may thunder his anathemas against its walls, if it so please him; and then bear this meddling monk to the tumbrel, that he may learn better than to beard his natural lord under his own roof.""He's a nice lad, ain't he?"
THREE:"I dare say you won't have toI'm not staying out all night.""You've killed her! it's your doing ... you're a murderer!" she screamed at Reuben.
ONE:Margaret ceased to speak, and her tears dropped fast on the little innocent she was so anxiously watching; presently it gave a faint sigh, and the mother's agonizing shriek, told her husband that the breath was its last. Holgrave had beheld in silence the death-pang of his child; and now, when the cry of the mother announced that it had ceased to be, he turned from the bed and rushed to the door without uttering a word.
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BY: ADMIN | 05.01.2013

TWO:"It's our chance," said Bill.

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BY: ADMIN | 05.01.2013

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BY: ADMIN | 05.01.2013

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THREE:He had become separated from the other searchers, and was alone on the west side of the Moor. The wind barked and howled, hurling itself upon him as he stood, beating his face with hail, which hissed into the dead tangles of the heather, while the stripped thorns yapped and rattled, and the bushes roared. So great was the tumult that he seemed to fall into it like a stone into a waveit passed over him, round him, seemed even to pass under him, he was hardly conscious of the solid ground. The blackness was impenetrable, save where his lantern stained it with a yellow smudge. He shouted, but his voice perished in the dinit seemed as if his whole man, sight, voice, hearing, and sensation, was blurring into the storm, as if Boarzell had swamped him at last, made him merely one of its hundred voices, mocking the manhood which had tried so much against its earth.In the course of time he heard that Caro was living with Joe Dansay down at the Camber, but he made no effort to bring her back. "I'm shut of her," he told everyone angrily. If Caro preferred a common sailor and loose living to the dignity and usefulness of her position at Odiam, he was not going to interfere. Besides, she had disgraced his farm, and he would never forgive that.

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THREE:Rose was taking out the pins, and curls and tendrils of hair began to fall on her shoulders. Caro took the brush, and swept it over the soft mass, gleaming like spun glass. A subtle perfume rose from it, the rub of[Pg 262] it on her hand was like silk. Rose's eyes closed as the brush stroked her, and her lips parted slowly into a smile."I'll tell you wot it is, then!" cried Reuben"it's bad stacking. This hay ?un't bin pr?aperly driedit's bin stacked damp, and them ricks have gone alight o' themselves, bust up from inside. It's your doing, this here is, and I'll m?ake you answer fur it, surelye."

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THREE:"They are indeed pretty," answered De Boteler; "and the fair hands that wrought them deserve praise. What think you, Sir Robert?"

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THREE:Then, at last, after experiences which had had [Pg 91]boredom added to their pain by repetition, she murmured"What is it, mother?"and a real, breathing, living, crying, little girl was put into her arms."No."

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"'O why, because sickness hath wasted my body,"Stop that," shouted Reuben"he ?un't to stay here."Reuben, as was usual with him, tried to drown sorrow in hard work. He spent his whole day either in the yard or in the fields or out on Boarzell. He was digging a ditch round his new land, to let off the winter rain, and throughout the cool November damps he was on the Moor, watching the sunset's fiery glow behind the gorse, seeing the red clay squash and crumble[Pg 121] thickly under his spadespouting out drops of blood. In time all this fire and blood brought him back into his old purpose. Gradually the lust of conquest drove away regret. He had no more cause for self-reproach than an officer who loses a good soldier in battle. It is the fortune of war. And Naomi had not died without accomplishing her work and giving him men to help him in the fight."This assize will be a hungry feast," he at length exclaimed; "we may bid adieu to the MitreI must refund the money I received on account of the witch, and the old Ferrett, too, must have his earnest moneywhat is to be done? Do ye know any one who could be trusted to stand in the shoes of Beauchamp?"
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