ause they'd all seen in the paper this morning that Joanna had
lost her case--and reckon she must be properly upset. Maybe that was why
she had come back....

"Would you like to drive?" she asked Joanna, when they had taken their
seats in Misleham's ancient gig, with the crate of fowls behind them.
She felt rather shy of handling the reins under Joanna Godden's eye, for
everyone knew that Joanna drove like a Jehu, something tur'ble.

But the great woman shook her head. She felt tired, she said, with the
heat. So Mrs. Furnese drove, and Joanna sat silently beside her,
watching her thick brown hand on the reins, with the wedding ring
embedded deep in the gnarled finger.

"Reckon she's properly upset with that case," thought the married woman
to herself, "and sarve her right for bringing it. She could easily have
paid them missionaries, with all the money she had. But it was ever
Joanna's way to make a terrification."

They jogged on over the winding, white ribbon of road--through Brodnyx
village, past the huge barn-like church which had both inspired and
reproached her faith, with its black, caped tower canting over it, on to
Walland Marsh, to the cross roads at the Woolpack--My, how they would
talk at the Woolpack!... but she would be far away by then ... where?...
She didn't know, she would think of that later--when she had told
Ellen. Oh, there would be trouble--there would be the worst she'd ever
have to swallow--when she told Ellen....

Sec.35

Joanna saw Ansdore looking at her through the chaffy haze of the August
afternoon. It stewed like an apple in the sunshine, and a faint smell of
apples came from it, as its great orchard dragged its boughs in the
grass. They were reaping the Gate Field close to the house--the hum of
the reaper came to her, and seemed in some mysterious way to be the
voice of Ansdore itself, droning in the sunshine and stillness. She felt
her throat tighten, and winked the tears from her eyes.

She could see Ellen coming down the drive, a cool, white, belted figure,
with trim white feet. From her bedroom window Ellen had seen the
Misleham gig turn in at the gate, and had at once recognized the golden
blot beside Mrs. Furnese as her sister Joanna.

"Hullo, Jo! I never expected you back to-day. Did you send a wire? For
if you did, I never got it."

"No, I didn't telegraph. Where's Mene Tekel? Tell her to come around
with Nan and carry up my box. Mrs. Furnese, ma'am, I hope you'll