"It's sin," she said.
"Is it?" replied Mary, and, so still her voice was that it made no vibrations to disturb the deeper meaning she implied. In their following silence, that deeper meaning filtered slowly but inevitably through the strata of Mrs. Peverell's mind, till drop by drop it fell into the core of her being. In the far hidden soul of her, she knew it was no sin. She knew moreover that Mary had full realization of her knowledge. Too far the silence had gone for her to deny it now. Whatever were the years between them, in those moments they were just women between whom no screen was set to hide their shame. They had no shame. All that they thought and had no words for was pure as the clearest water in the deepest well.
It was at this moment as they sat there, still, without speech, that the door opened and Mr. Peverell entered. Swiftly his wife turned.
"'Ee'll not be wanted here awhile," she said sharply. "Go and sit in the parlor, or back to the barn, or get to bed maybe. The hay'll make without talking."
Obediently, like a child, he went out at once and closed the door. It was not things they talked of that he might not hear. Not even was it things they talked of that he might not understand. Here it was that no man had place or meaning; in that region their minds were wandering in, no laws existed but those of Nature. They walked in a world where women are alone.
The opening of that door as he came in, the closing of it as obediently he went out, seemed to make definite the thoughts they had. At the sound of his footsteps departing, Mrs. Peverell turned to Mary.
"Say all 'ee've got to say," she muttered. "I'm listenin'."
And as definitely Mary replied--
"I'm going to have a baby. Seven months from now. I don't want you to think I'm hiding here. I could take refuge anywhere. I'm not ashamed. But there are seven months. They won't be long to me. Indeed they'll be all too short. Children aren't just born. They're made. Thousands are born, I know. I don't want just to bear mine. When I came here that day, two years ago, I felt something about this place. You'll think nothing of this. You live here. It's so much part of your life that you don't know what it means. But you're close to the earth--you're all one with growing things. You touch Nature at every turn. Oh--do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I don't understand," said Mrs. Peverell, "but I'm listenin' and I beant too old to feel."