England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Wessex (England) -- Fiction
The minister suffered from these distractions, and his extemporized
sermons were not improved thereby. Already he often said Romans for
Corinthians in the pulpit, and gave out hymns in strange cramped
metres, that hitherto had always been skipped, because the congregation
could not raise a tune to fit them. He fully resolved that as soon as
his few weeks of stay approached their end he would cut the matter
short, and commit himself by proposing a definite engagement, repenting
at leisure if necessary.
With this end in view, he suggested to her on the evening after her
mysterious sleep that they should take a walk together just before
dark, the latter part of the proposition being introduced that they
might return home unseen. She consented to go; and away they went over
a stile, to a shrouded footpath suited for the occasion. But, in spite
of attempts on both sides, they were unable to infuse much spirit into
the ramble. She looked rather paler than usual, and sometimes turned
her head away.
‘Lizzy,’ said Stockdale reproachfully, when they had walked in silence
a long distance.
‘Yes,’ said she.
‘You yawned—much my company is to you!’ He put it in that way, but he
was really wondering whether her yawn could possibly have more to do
with physical weariness from the night before than mental weariness of
that present moment. Lizzy apologized, and owned that she was rather
tired, which gave him an opening for a direct question on the point;
but his modesty would not allow him to put it to her; and he
uncomfortably resolved to wait.
The month of February passed with alternations of mud and frost, rain
and sleet, east winds and north-westerly gales. The hollow places in
the ploughed fields showed themselves as pools of water, which had
settled there from the higher levels, and had not yet found time to
soak away. The birds began to get lively, and a single thrush came just
before sunset each evening, and sang hopefully on the large elm-tree
which stood nearest to Mrs. Newberry’s house. Cold blasts and brittle
earth had given place to an oozing dampness more unpleasant in itself
than frost; but it suggested coming spring, and its unpleasantness was
of a bearable kind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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