But, being
forgotten, they had lain there perhaps fifty years, and possibly much
longer; until, by the accumulation of moss, and the leaves falling
over them, and decaying there, from autumn to autumn, a green mound
was formed, in which the softened outline of the woodpile was still
perceptible. In the fitful mood that then swayed my mind, I found
something strangely affecting in this simple circumstance. I
imagined the long-dead woodman, and his long-dead wife and children,
coming out of their chill graves, and essaying to make a fire with
this heap of mossy fuel!
From this spot I strayed onward, quite lost in reverie, and neither
knew nor cared whither I was going, until a low, soft,
well-remembered voice spoke, at a little distance.
"There is Mr. Coverdale!"
"Miles Coverdale!" said another voice,--and its tones were very stern.
"Let him come forward, then!"
"Yes, Mr. Coverdale," cried a woman's voice,--clear and melodious,
but, just then, with something unnatural in its chord,--"you are
welcome! But you come half an hour too late, and have missed a scene
which you would have enjoyed!"
I looked up and found myself nigh Eliot's pulpit, at the base of
which sat Hollingsworth, with Priscilla at his feet and Zenobia
standing before them.
XXV. THE THREE TOGETHER
Hollingsworth was in his ordinary working-dress. Priscilla wore a
pretty and simple gown, with a kerchief about her neck, and a calash,
which she had flung back from her head, leaving it suspended by the
strings.
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