XXXIII. In the Sun—A Harbinger

           

           Aweekpassed,andtherewerenotidingsofBathsheba;norwasthereanyexplanationofherGilpin’srig.

           ThenanotecameforMaryann,statingthatthebusinesswhichhadcalledhermistresstoBathstilldetainedherthere;butthatshehopedtoreturninthecourseofanotherweek.

           Anotherweekpassed.Theoat-harvestbegan,andallthemenwerea-fieldunderamonochromaticLammassky,amidthetremblingairandshortshadowsofnoon.Indoorsnothingwastobeheardsavethedroningofblue-bottleflies;out-of-doorsthewhettingofscythesandthehissoftressyoat-earsrubbingtogetherastheirperpendicularstalksofamber-yellowfellheavilytoeachswath.Everydropofmoisturenotinthemen’sbottlesandflagonsintheformofciderwasrainingasperspirationfromtheirforeheadsandcheeks.Droughtwaseverywhereelse.

           Theywereabouttowithdrawforawhileintothecharitableshadeofatreeinthefence,whenCoggansawafigureinabluecoatandbrassbuttonsrunningtothemacrossthefield.

           "Iwonderwhothatis?"hesaid.

           "Ihopenothingiswrongaboutmistress,"saidMaryann,whowithsomeotherwomenwastyingthebundles(oatsbeingalwayssheafedonthisfarm),"butanunluckytokencametomeindoorsthismorning.Iwenttounlockthedooranddroppedthekey,anditfelluponthestonefloorandbrokeintotwopieces.Breakingakeyisadreadfulbodement.Iwishmis’esswashome."

           "’TisCainBall,"saidGabriel,pausingfromwhettinghisreaphook.

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