of Evan.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE USE OF LIVING.

It was quite according to Diana's nature, that as the winter went on,
though still without news of Evan, her tumult and agony of mind quieted
down into a calm and steadfast waiting. Her spirit was too healthy for
suspicion, too true for doubt; and put away doubt and suspicion, what
was left but the assurance that there had been some accident or
mistake; from the consequences of which she was suffering, no doubt,
but which would all be made right, and come out clear so soon as there
could be an opportunity for explanation. For that there was nothing to
do but to wait a little; with the returning mild weather, Evan would be
able to procure a furlough, he would be at her side, and then--nothing
then but union and joy. She could wait; and even in the waiting, her
healthy spirit as it were sloughed off care, and came back again to its
usual placid, strong, bright condition.

So the winter went; a winter which was ever after a blank in Diana's
remembrance; and the cold weather broke up into the frosts and thaws
that sugar-makers love; and in such a March day it was, the word came
to Mrs. Starling's house that old Squire Bowdoin was dead. The like
weather never failed in after years to bring back to Diana that one day
and its tidings and the strange shock they gave her.

"'Twas kind o' sudden," said the news-bringer, who was Joe Bartlett;
"he was took all to once and jes' dropped--like a ripe chestnut."

"Why, like a ripe chestnut?" said Mrs. Starling sharply.

"Wall, I had to say suthin', and that come first. The Scripter doos
speak of a shock o' corn in his season, don't it, Mis' Starling?"

"What's the likeness between a shock o' corn and a chestnut, Joe? I
can't abide to hear folks talk nonsense. Who's at Elmfield?"

"Ain't nary one there that had ought to be there; nary one but the
help."

"But they're comin'?" said Mrs. Starling, lifting up her head for the
answer.

"Wall, I can't say. Evan, he's too fur; and I guess men in his place
hain't their ch'ice. And his folks is flourishy kind o' bodies; I don't
set no count on 'em, for my part."

"Well, everybody else'll be there, and shame 'em if they ain't," said
Mrs. Starling. "How's your mother, Joe?"

"Wall, I guess _she's_ ripe," said Joe with a slow intonation, loving
and reverent; "but she's goin' to hold on to this state o' things yet
awhile. Good day t'ye!"

Diana went to the old man's funeral