They were climbing the long hill that runs from Doestone Hall, the Tudor house standing close to the crossroads. By turning their heads they could see its gabled front with the larches set like lances beside its door. The river ran swift below the beech-covered slope of the park, reaching impatiently after the ebbed tide. The house, for all the weight of its age, looked unsubstantial in the filmy air. Fast as the river flowed below, from above it looked like a sheeted but still faintly moving corpse.
The road was damp and shadowy under the overhanging trees, and padded with the hoof-welded carpet of the autumn leaves. The fields on either side were formless and wet, and seemed to stretch away to unknown lengths. The hedges appeared to wander and wind across the land without purpose and without end. Under all the hedges and trees there were leaves, wet splashes of crushed colour on the misted grass. Simon lifted his whip to point at the hips and haws, and said it would be a hard winter when it came, but Sarah did not so much as turn her head.
“I’m bothered a deal wi’ my eyes, Simon,” she said in a quiet tone. “I thought I’d best see doctor about ’em today.”
He dropped his gaze from the hedges with a startled stare. “Oh, ay? That’s summat fresh, isn’t it?” he enquired. “You’ve never said nowt about it afore.”
“Nay, what, I thought it was likely just old age. But I’ve gitten a deal worse these last few week. I can’t shape to do a bit o’ sewing or owt.”
“Ay, well, you’d best see doctor right off,” Simon said, and the horse crawled a little further up the hill. They did not speak again for some time, but those who live together in a great loneliness grow to speak together in thought as much as in words. That was why his next speech seemed to come out placidly enough. “I doubt it’s about time for us to quit.”
“I doubt it is.”
“I never meant to gang till I was carried,” Simon said, “and then I doubt there’d still ha’ been some o’ me left. But I’ve seen the end o’ things coming for a while back now. It seems kind o’ meant, you being bothered wi’ your eyes an’ all.”
“Happen it is,” she said again, and sighed. Then she laughed, a slight laugh, but bitter and grim. “It nobbut wanted that on top o’ the rest!”
Simon threw her an uneasy glance.
“Nay, now, you mustn’t get down about it, missis,” he said hastily. “It waint do to get down. Doctor’ll likely see his way to put you right. But we’ve had a terble poor time wi’ it all,” he went on glumly, forgetting his own advice. “Seems like as if we’d been overlooked by summat, you and me. ’Tisn’t as if we’d made such a bad start at things, neither. We were both on us strong and willing when we was wed. It’s like as if there’d been a curse o’ some sort on the danged spot!”
“There’s been a curse on the lot of us right enough!” Sarah said. “Ay, and we don’t need telling where it come from, neither!”
Again he looked at her with that uncomfortable air, though he took no notice of her bitter speech. He knew only too well that haunted corner of her mind. That sour, irreclaimable pasture had been trodden in every inch.
“Ay, well, we’re through on t’far side on’t now,” he said morosely. “Sandholes can grind the soul out o’ some other poor body for the next forty year! I never hear tell o’ such a spot!” he went on crossly, with that puzzled exasperation which he always showed when discussing the marsh-farm. “It’d be summat to laugh at if only it didn’t make you dancin’ mad! What, it’s like as if even slates had gitten a spite agen sticking to t’roof! We’ve had t’tide in t’house more nor once, and sure an’ certain it’d be when we’d summat new in the way o’ gear. We’d a fire an’ all, you’ll think on, and it took us a couple o’ year getting to rights agen. Burned out and drownded out—why, it’s right silly, that’s what it is! As for t’land, what it fair swallers up lime an’ slag and any mak’ o’ manure, and does as lile or nowt as it can for it in return. Nigh every crop we’ve had yet was some sort of a letdown—that’s if we’d happen luck to get it at all! Kitchen garden’s near as bad; lile or nowt’ll come up in’t, nobbut you set by it and hod its hand! Ay, and the stock, now—if there was sickness about, sure an’ certain it’d fix on us. You’d nobbut just to hear o’ tell o’ foot and mouth, or anthrax, or summat o’ the sort, an’ it’d be showing at Sandholes inside a week! Same wi’ t’folk in t’house as wi’ folk in t’shuppon—fever, fluenzy, diphthery—the whole doctor’s bag o’ tricks. Nay, there’s summat queer about spot, and that’s Bible truth! We should ha’ made up our minds to get shot of it long since, and tried our luck somewheres else.”
“We’d likely just ha’ taken our luck along wi’ us,” Sarah said, “and there was yon brass we’d sunk in the spot—ay, and other folks’ brass an’ all.” (Simon growled “Ay, ay,” to this, but in a reproachful tone, as
