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Father John went forward, and, pushing open a wooden gate, led the way to the osier-girt mound and head-stone over the grave of Holgrave's father. The body was deposited on the grass, and a space cleared of sufficient depth to receive it.He led her back into the crowd, and once more she felt his arms round her, so light, so strong, while her feet spun with his, tricked by magic. She became acutely conscious of his presencethe roughness of his coat-sleeve, the faint scent of the sprigged waistcoat, which had been folded away in lavender. And all the[Pg 64] while she had another picture of him in her heart, not in his Sunday best, but in corduroys and the blue shirt which had stood out of the January dusk, the last piece of colour in the day. She remembered the swing of his arm, the crash of the axe on the trunk, the bending of his back as he pulled it out, the muscles swelled under the skin ... and then the tingling creep in her own heart, that sudden suffocating thrill which had come to her there beside Harry in the gloam...."Yesyou'd have gone short of everything and made other folks go shortbut we ?un't that kind.""To no one, until after I had stolen the childand then I told all to father John."
