“The letter of your mother’s accusation was true; never the spirit. I would have married Stanley for Crump—for the soil, the soul of Crump—for this!” She struck her hand passionately on the turf. “Just as I would have married you, dear heart, if I had dared to risk you one single hour of remorse!”
He turned her face and looked into her eyes.
“Kilne does not lapse,” he said. “It comes home, that is all. The chain ends at Crump where it began—you bring it there. Doesn’t that make you ‘count’?”
“Oh, yes, I count at last!” she answered, with the same vivid content. “Your way and my way, I count in both. Didn’t you know what I meant when I found you? It is said of Crump stewards that they can be drawn to their masters by a thought. You wanted me, and I came at once. Somebody stopped me on the way, and I chafed and ached until they let me go. I didn’t know why I was coming or what drew me, but you called me and I came. To-day I stand in my fathers’ place, and put my hands between yours, and my homage with them. All those gone before know me and own my claim. I, too, can serve. I, too, belong to Crump at last!”
Under the hill the Hall sheltered, no longer a crouching thing of menace but a man’s quiet hearth-place, breathing peace. The rooks were coming back, calling their way over park and village, ploughing steadily through the pure air to their nests in the dim woods. The two lonely young figures followed them: Crump folk all—going home.
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.K.,
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.