The woman turned without another word and went away.
Anice did not remain in the garden. The spirit of Joan Lowrie's intense mood communicated itself to her. She, too, trembled and her pulse beat rapidly. She thought of Paul Grace and wished for his presence. She felt herself drawn near to him again. She wanted to tell him that his harvest had come, that his faithfulness had not been without its reward. Her own labor she only counted as chance-work.
She found Fergus Derrick in the parlor, talking to her mother.
He was sitting in his favorite position, leaning back in a chair before a window, his hands clasped behind his head. His friendly intercourse with the family had extended beyond the ceremonious epoch, when a man's attitudes are studied and unnatural. In these days Derrick was as much at ease at the Rectory as an only son might have been.
"I thought some one spoke to you across the hedge, Anice?" her mother said.
"Yes," Anice answered. "It was Joan Lowrie."
She sat down opposite Fergus, and told him what had occurred. Her voice was not quite steady, and she made the relation as brief as possible. Derrick sat looking out of the window without moving.
"Mr. Derrick," said Anice at last, after a few minutes had elapsed, "What now is to be done with Joan Lowrie?"
Derrick roused himself with a start to meet her eyes and find them almost sad.
"What now?" he said. "God knows! For one, I cannot see the end."
