Возвращение на родину

VIII. Rain, Darkness, and Anxious Wanderers

           Iwaslyingdownhereasleepaboutfiveminutesago,withthedoorshuttokeepouttheweather,whenthebrushingofawoman’sclothesovertheheath-bushesjustoutsidewokemeup,forIdon’tsleepheavy,andatthesametimeIheardasobbingorcryingfromthesamewoman.Iopenedmydoorandheldoutmylantern,andjustasfarasthelightwouldreachIsawawoman;sheturnedherheadwhenthelightsheenedonher,andthenhurriedondownhill.Ihungupthelantern,andwascuriousenoughtopullonmythingsanddogherafewsteps,butIcouldseenothingofheranymore.ThatwaswhereIhadbeenwhenyoucameup;andwhenIsawyouIthoughtyouwerethesameone.”

           “Perhapsitwasoneoftheheathfolkgoinghome?”

           “No,itcouldn’tbe.’Tistoolate.Thenoiseofhergownoverthehe’thwasofawhistlingsortthatnothingbutsilkwillmake.”

           “Itwasn’tI,then.Mydressisnotsilk,yousee....AreweanywhereinalinebetweenMistoverandtheinn?”

           “Well,yes;notfarout.”

           “Ah,Iwonderifitwasshe!Diggory,Imustgoatonce!”

           Shejumpeddownfromthevanbeforehewasaware,whenVennunhookedthelanternandleapeddownafterher.“I’lltakethebaby,ma’am,”hesaid.“Youmustbetiredoutbytheweight.”

           Thomasinhesitatedamoment,andthendeliveredthebabyintoVenn’shands.“Don’tsqueezeher,Diggory,”shesaid,“orhurtherlittlearm;andkeepthecloakcloseoverherlikethis,sothattherainmaynotdropinherface.”

           “Iwill,”saidVennearnestly.

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