Margaret came forwards to meet her friend, whom she half expected,
and whose step she knew. Mrs. Davenport returned to her washing.
The two girls did not speak; the presence of Alice awed them into
silence. There she lay with the rosy colour, absent from her face
since the days of childhood, flushed once more into it by her
sickness nigh unto death. She lay on the affected side, and with
her other arm she was constantly sawing the air, not exactly in a
restless manner, but in a monotonous, incessant way, very trying to
a watcher. She was talking away, too, almost as constantly, in a
low indistinct tone. But her face, her profiled countenance, looked
calm and smiling, even interested by the ideas that were passing
through her clouded mind.
"Listen!" said Margaret, as she stooped her head down to catch the
muttered words more distinctly.
"What will mother say? The bees are turning homeward for th' last
time, and we've a terrible long bit to go yet. See! here's a
linnet's nest in this gorse-bush. Th' hen bird is on it. Look at
her bright eyes, she won't stir.
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