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Francis
Troy
,
Who
died
December
24th
,
18
—
,
Aged
26
years
Whilst
she
stood
and
read
and
meditated
the
tones
of
the
organ
began
again
in
the
church
,
and
she
went
with
the
same
light
step
round
to
the
porch
and
listened
.
The
door
was
closed
,
and
the
choir
was
learning
a
new
hymn
.
Bathsheba
was
stirred
by
emotions
which
latterly
she
had
assumed
to
be
altogether
dead
within
her
.
The
little
attenuated
voices
of
the
children
brought
to
her
ear
in
distinct
utterance
the
words
they
sang
without
thought
or
comprehension
—
Lead
,
kindly
Light
,
amid
the
encircling
gloom
,
Lead
Thou
me
on
.
Bathsheba
’
s
feeling
was
always
to
some
extent
dependent
upon
her
whim
,
as
is
the
case
with
many
other
women
.
Something
big
came
into
her
throat
and
an
uprising
to
her
eyes
—
and
she
thought
that
she
would
allow
the
imminent
tears
to
flow
if
they
wished
.
They
did
flow
and
plenteously
,
and
one
fell
upon
the
stone
bench
beside
her
.
Once
that
she
had
begun
to
cry
for
she
hardly
knew
what
,
she
could
not
leave
off
for
crowding
thoughts
she
knew
too
well
.
She
would
have
given
anything
in
the
world
to
be
,
as
those
children
were
,
unconcerned
at
the
meaning
of
their
words
,
because
too
innocent
to
feel
the
necessity
for
any
such
expression
.
All
the
impassioned
scenes
of
her
brief
experience
seemed
to
revive
with
added
emotion
at
that
moment
,
and
those
scenes
which
had
been
without
emotion
during
enactment
had
emotion
then
.
Yet
grief
came
to
her
rather
as
a
luxury
than
as
the
scourge
of
former
times
.
Owing
to
Bathsheba
’
s
face
being
buried
in
her
hands
she
did
not
notice
a
form
which
came
quietly
into
the
porch
,
and
on
seeing
her
,
first
moved
as
if
to
retreat
,
then
paused
and
regarded
her
.
Bathsheba
did
not
raise
her
head
for
some
time
,
and
when
she
looked
round
her
face
was
wet
,
and
her
eyes
drowned
and
dim
.
"
Mr
.
Oak
,
"
exclaimed
she
,
disconcerted
,
"
how
long
have
you
been
here
?
"
"
A
few
minutes
,
ma
’
am
,
"
said
Oak
,
respectfully
.
