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Project Gutenberg's The Story of Bessie Costrell., by Mrs. Humphry Ward This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Story of Bessie Costrell. Author: Mrs. Humphry Ward Release Date: April 27, 2004 [EBook #12181] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF BESSIE COSTRELL. *** Produced by Andrew Templeton, Juliet Sutherland, Carol David and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. THE WRITINGS OF MRS HUMPHRY WARD FENWICK'S CAREER AND THE STORY OF BESSIE COSTRELL [Illustration: [[Latin inscription: TOVT BIEN OV BIEN]]] BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY MDCCCCX COPYRIGHT, 1895, 1905, 1906, BY MRS. HUMPHRY WARD COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY THE STORY OF BESSIE COSTRELL SCENE I It was an August evening, still and cloudy after a day unusually chilly for the time of year. Now, about sunset, the temperature was warmer than it had been in the morning, and the departing sun was forcing its way through the clouds, breaking up their level masses into delicate latticework of golds and greys. The last radiant light was on the wheat-fields under the hill, and on the long chalk hill itself. Against that glowing background lay the village, already engulfed by the advancing shadow. All the nearer trees, which the daylight had mingled in one green monotony, stood out sharp and distinct, each in its own plane, against the hill. Each natural object seemed to gain a new accent, a more individual beauty, from the vanishing and yet lingering sunlight. An elderly labourer was walking along the road which led to the village. To his right lay the allotment gardens just beginning to be alive with figures, and the voices of men and children. Beyond them, far ahead, rose the square tower of the church; to his left was the hill, and straight in front of him the village, with its veils of smoke lightly brushed over the trees, and its lines of cottages climbing the chalk steeps behind it. His eye as he walked took in a number of such facts as life had trained it to notice. Once he stopped to bend over a fence, to pluck a stalk or two of oats; he examined them car
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