dershadlostthereandhergarnetbrooch.
"Itismuchclearerthanthissometimes,"saidMrs.Jarvis,standingupontheridge.Therewerenoclouds,andyettherewasahazeoverthesea,andoverthemoors.ThelightsofScarboroughflashed,asifawomanwearingadiamondnecklaceturnedherheadthiswayandthat.
"Howquietitis!"saidMrs.Jarvis.
Mrs.Flandersrubbedtheturfwithhertoe,thinkingofhergarnetbrooch.
Mrs.Jarvisfounditdifficulttothinkofherselfto-night.Itwassocalm.Therewasnowindnothingracing,flying,escaping.Blackshadowsstoodstilloverthesilvermoors.Thefurzebushesstoodperfectlystill.NeitherdidMrs.JarvisthinkofGod.Therewasachurchbehindthem,ofcourse.Thechurchclockstruckten.Didthestrokesreachthefurzebush,ordidthethorntreehearthem?
Mrs.Flanderswasstoopingdowntopickupapebble.Sometimespeopledofindthings,Mrs.Jarvisthought,andyetinthishazymoonlightitwasimpossibletoseeanything,exceptbones,andlittlepiecesofchalk.
"Jacobboughtitwithhisownmoney,andthenIbroughtMr.Parkeruptoseetheview,anditmusthavedropped—"Mrs.Flandersmurmured.
Didthebonesstir,ortherustyswords?WasMrs.Flanders'stwopenny-halfpennybroochforeverpartoftherichaccumulation?andifalltheghostsflockedthickandrubbedshoulderswithMrs.Flandersinthecircle,wouldshenothaveseemedperfectlyinherplace,aliveEnglishmatron,growingstout?
Theclockstruckthequarter.
Thefrailwavesofsoundbrokeamongthestiffgorseandthehawthorntwigsasthechurchclockdividedtimeintoquarters.
Motionlessandbroad-backedthemoorsreceivedthestatement"Itisfifteenminutespastthehour,"butmadenoanswer,unlessabramblestirred.
Yeteveninthislightthelegendsonthetombstonescouldberead,briefvoicessaying,"IamBerthaRuck,""IamTomGage."Andtheysaywhichdayoftheyeartheydied,andtheNewTestamentsayssomethingforthem,veryproud,veryemphatic,orconsoling.
Themoorsacceptallthattoo.
Themoonlightfall