The church, resting peacefully in the green sea of the churchyard, was like some great rock, stained with lichen, crumbling with age, beautiful in its decay.
Near it, under the shade of mighty elms, was a row of almshouses, fine specimens of black-and-white work, and at the end of the rambling street stood the old well, with its canopy of wrought iron, and its ancient moss-grown steps.
As she passed through the village in which from babyhood she had lived, Sylvia recognized its beauty and its peace. It seemed a place where it was always afternoon, and for that reason, to the girl who yearned for the morning, herself in the glad confident morning of life, it was intolerable.
She gave herself an impatient little shake, and hurried on.
Now, across the green, the beeches of Fairholme Court were in sight.
In summer they almost completely screened the house, and made deep shadows in the drive. Thankfully Sylvia plunged into the shade and quickened her steps.
The hall door was wide open, revealing the coolness of the white-panelled hall, and as she entered, the air was sweet with the scent of flowers.
She stopped a moment to bend over a great bowl of sweet peas.
“Everything is peaceful here too,” she thought. “But it’s interesting as well. I wonder why?”
The appearance of Burks, immaculate as usual in snowy cap and apron, interrupted her vague musing.