ntrast. Why
could not Mary wear her straw hat straight, and why must she have
elastic under her chin? Why did she look so cross and so stupid? Why did
she bother him so with her worries? Charlotte would never worry him. She
would just sit there, looking beautiful, with her golden hair, and blue
eyes and pink cheeks. Next week was to be Miss Jones's birthday, and
in preparation for this he had bought for her in Polchester a silver
thimble. He wondered whether he would not give Charlotte this thimble
instead of Miss Jones. He could give Miss Jones some old thing he would
find somewhere, or he would go out and pick for her some flowers. She
would be pleased with anything. He wondered what Charlotte would say
when he gave her the thimble. She would like it, of course. She would
smile. She would open her eyes and look at him. Fortunately he had the
thimble even now in his pocket. He had bought it when he was wearing
this same suit. Yes, he would give it to her. As he decided this he
looked at Miss Jones guiltily, but she was making such odd faces as she
squinted to escape from the sun that he did not feel ashamed.

They came to that steep hill just beyond Garth woods, and Bob, of
course, refused to move. The superb Le Page affair dashed past them,
shouted something at them, and disappeared over the brow of the hill.
The last thing to be seen of them were the fierce despairing eyes of the
imprisoned Mary. A strange sensation of relief instantly settled upon
the Coles. For a moment they were alone; they began slowly to walk up
the hill, dragging with them the reluctant Bob. About them was peace,
absolute and unstained. The hard glitter of the day shone upon the white
road, but behind them the wood was dark and cool, a green cloud against
the sky. Behind the steep hedges the harvesters were moving. In the air
a lark was singing, and along the ditch at the road side a tiny stream
tumbled. And beyond these sounds there was a vast tranquil silence.

The Coles moved up the hill very slowly, only Hamlet racing ahead to
find spots of shadow where he might lie down and pant. They would not
confess to themselves that this promised to be the happiest moment of
their day. They went bravely forward.

On the bend of the hill the Le Pages were waiting for them. What Mrs.
Cole had foreseen had in truth occurred. The Le Page carriage would not
go down the Rafiel Lane. No, it would, not... Nothing would induce it
to.

"James," said Mrs. Le