An old woman was sitting in the shade
knitting and tending a little black cow that cropped the sweet moist
grass. Only for the sake of speaking Bessie asked again her way to the
village.
"Keep straight on, miss, you can't miss it," said the old woman, and
gazed up at her inquisitively.
So Bessie kept straight on until she came to the ivy-covered walls of
the lodge; the porch opened upon the road, and Colonel Stokes was
standing outside in conversation with another gentleman, who was the
vicar of Kirkham, Mr. Forbes. Bessie went on when she had passed them,
shyly disconcerted, for Colonel Stokes had come forward with an air of
surprise and had asked her if she was lost. Perhaps it was unusual for
young ladies to walk alone here? She did not know.
The gentlemen watched her out of sight. "Miss Fairfax, of course," said
the vicar. "She walks admirably--I like to see that."
"A handsome girl," said Colonel Stokes. And then they reverted to their
interrupted discussion, the approaching election at Norminster. The
clergyman was very keen about it, the old Indian officer was almost
indifferent.
Meanwhile Bessie reached the church--a very ancient church, spacious and
simple, with a square tower and a porch that was called Norman. The
graveyard surrounded it. A flagged pathway led from the gate between the
grassy mounds to the door, which stood open that the Saturday sun might
drive out the damp vapors of the week.
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