Certainly.

“Then I’ll see about it this very day.”  He seemed relieved to get her off his hands by this arrangement, and as far as they were concerned the matter was settled.  She now simply waited to see the lady again.

The day and the hour came; but a drizzling rain fell.  Elizabeth-Jane having now changed her orbit from one of gay independence to laborious self-help, thought the weather good enough for such declined glory as hers, if her friend would only face it—­a matter of doubt.  She went to the boot-room where her pattens had hung ever since her apotheosis; took them down, had their mildewed leathers blacked, and put them on as she had done in old times.  Thus mounted, and with cloak and umbrella, she went off to the place of appointment—­intending, if the lady were not there, to call at the house.

One side of the churchyard—­the side towards the weather—­was sheltered by an ancient thatched mud wall whose eaves overhung as much as one or two feet.  At the back of the wall was a corn-yard with its granary and barns—­the place wherein she had met Farfrae many months earlier.  Under the projection of the thatch she saw a figure.  The young lady had come.

Her presence so exceptionally substantiated the girl’s utmost hopes that she almost feared her good fortune.  Fancies find rooms in the strongest minds.  Here, in a churchyard old as civilization, in the worst of weathers, was a strange woman of curious fascinations never seen elsewhere:  there might be some devilry about her presence.  However, Elizabeth went on to the church tower, on whose summit the rope of a flagstaff rattled in the wind; and thus she came to the wall.

The lady had such a cheerful aspect in the drizzle that Elizabeth forgot her fancy.  “Well,” said the lady, a little of the whiteness of her teeth appearing with the word through the black fleece that protected her face, “have you decided?”

“Yes, quite,” said the other eagerly.

“Your father is willing?”

“Yes.”

“Then come along.”

“When?”

“Now—­as soon as you like.  I had a good mind to send to you to come to my house, thinking you might not venture up here in the wind.  But as I like getting out of doors, I thought I would come and see first.”

“It was my own thought.”

“That shows we shall agree.  Then can you come to-day?  My house is so hollow and dismal that I want some living thing there.”

“I think I might be able to,” said the girl, reflecting.

Voices were borne over to them at that instant on the wind and raindrops from the other side of the wall.  There came such words as “sacks,” “quarters,” “threshing,” “tailing,” “next Saturday’s market,” each sentence being disorganized by the gusts like a face in a cracked mirror.  Both the women listened.

“Who are those?” said the lady.

“One is my father.  He rents that yard and barn.”