Mr. Joshua Rann, having a slight touch of rheumatism, did not join
in the ringing of the bells this morning, and, looking on with some
contempt at these informal greetings which required no official
co-operation from the clerk, began to hum in his musical bass, "Oh what
a joyful thing it is," by way of preluding a little to the effect he
intended to produce in the wedding psalm next Sunday.
"That's a bit of good news to cheer Arthur," said Mr. Irwine to his
mother, as they drove off. "I shall write to him the first thing when we
get home."
Epilogue
IT is near the end of June, in 1807. The workshops have been shut
up half an hour or more in Adam Bede's timber-yard, which used to
be Jonathan Burge's, and the mellow evening light is falling on the
pleasant house with the buff walls and the soft grey thatch, very much
as it did when we saw Adam bringing in the keys on that June evening
nine years ago.
There is a figure we know well, just come out of the house, and shading
her eyes with her hands as she looks for something in the distance, for
the rays that fall on her white borderless cap and her pale auburn hair
are very dazzling. But now she turns away from the sunlight and looks
towards the door.
Pages:
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872