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"He's dead," she said, without preface.
"Old Iggulden? I was coming for a talk with him." The vicar
passed in uncovered. "Ah!" she heard him say. "Heart-failure! How
long have you been here?"
"Since a quarter to eleven." She looked at her watch earnestly
and saw that her hand did not shake.
"I'll sit with him now till the doctor comes. D'you think you
could tell him, and--yes, Mrs. Betts in the cottage with the
wistaria next the blacksmith's? I'm afraid this has been rather a
shock to you."
Sophie nodded, and fled toward the village. Her body failed her
for a moment; she dropped beneath a hedge, and looked back at the
great house. In some fashion its silence and stolidity steadied
her for her errand.
Mrs. Betts, small, black-eyed, and dark, was almost as
unconcerned as Friars Pardon.
"Yiss, yiss, of course. Dear me! Well, Iggulden he had had his
day in my father's time. Muriel, get me my little blue bag,
please. Yiss, ma'am. They come down like ellum-branches in still
weather.


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