An' poor Joan tu--'pon the
same night as my Tom--drownded--in the gert land-flood up-long."
Gray Michael had been nodding his head and smiling as each item of the
mournful category was named. At Thomasin's last words he interrupted
angrily, and something of the old, deep tones of his voice echoed again.
"'Tis a lie! Dedn' I tell 'e, wummon, 'tweern't so? The devil took
her--body an' bones an' unborn baaby. They say she was found by the
meadowsweets; an' I say 'tis false. You may groan an' you may weep blood,
but you caan't chaange the things that have happened in time past--no; nor
more can God A'mighty."
His wife looked to see how Joe viewed this statement. A great local
superstition was growing up round Gray Michael, and his wild utterances
(sometimes profanely fearful beyond the possibility of setting down) were
listened to greedily as inspirations and oracles. Mrs. Tregenza herself
became presently imbued with something of this morbid and ignorant opinion.
Her deep wounds time promised to heal at the first intention, and the
significance now attributed to her insane husband grew to be a source of
real satisfaction to her. She dispensed the honor of interviews with
Michael as one distributes great gifts.
The force of circumstances and the futility of fighting against fate
impressed Thomasin mightily now, as Noy's wild eyes asked the question his
lips could not force themselves to frame.
Pages:
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429