"Ay, there'll be a storm before long, I reckon, neighbours," said Germoe.
"Faith, then, there will," muttered another speaker; "and a storm some people don't expect."
"There always is a storm," observed the general merchant, "along with misfortune at the castle. It comes as a token."
"Then it comes too late," quoth Mrs. Miniver. "It is after the misfortune this time. Who knows what came of Michael Sinson?"
A low groan ran through the throng, and filled the eyes of Mercy Page with tears.
"What'll his old grandame say," asked farmer Colan, "when she understands the rights of the matter?"
"She never will understand," answered the hostess. "She'll close her ears, and say it is all along of squire Randolph. Don't ye mind how she met him at the late master's burying? And how she says that her Margaret was murdered?"
"'T is a strange thing," remarked the village tailor, "that nothing ever turned up about the parson's murder."
"He never was murdered," said Breage; "if he had, there'd have been a sign. I don't believe as he was murdered."
The appearance of an empty carriage, winding its way round the green, put an end to these gossiping speculations, and concentrated the scattered groups of rustics into one compact crowd about the gate leading into the base-court of the castle. A moody silence succeeded to the previous animation, and all eyes followed the vehicle up the ascent, until it vanished from sight through the arched portal. Even the mirthful Mrs. Miniver then became serious for once, and waited among her neighbours in rueful anxiety for the re-appearance of the carriage.