They were about half-way to Witham when the moment of spoken decision caught them unawares. All their stolid resistance and obstinate clinging to the farm gave in that instant as easily as a pushed door. It was as if a rock at the mouth of a cave had suddenly proved no more than a cloud pausing before it in the act of drifting by. The end came as nearly always after a prolonged fight,--smoothly, painlessly, with a curious lack of interest or personal will. The burden had been so heavy that the last straw passed almost unnoticed which brought them finally to the ground. They had lived so close to the edge for so many years that the step which carried them over it scarcely jarred.
They were climbing the long hill that runs from Doestone Hall, the Tudor house standing close to the cross-roads. 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 to-day."
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!"