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It
was
Sunday
afternoon
in
the
farmhouse
,
on
the
thirteenth
of
February
.
Dinner
being
over
,
Bathsheba
,
for
want
of
a
better
companion
,
had
asked
Liddy
to
come
and
sit
with
her
.
The
mouldy
pile
was
dreary
in
winter
-
time
before
the
candles
were
lighted
and
the
shutters
closed
;
the
atmosphere
of
the
place
seemed
as
old
as
the
walls
;
every
nook
behind
the
furniture
had
a
temperature
of
its
own
,
for
the
fire
was
not
kindled
in
this
part
of
the
house
early
in
the
day
;
and
Bathsheba
’
s
new
piano
,
which
was
an
old
one
in
other
annals
,
looked
particularly
sloping
and
out
of
level
on
the
warped
floor
before
night
threw
a
shade
over
its
less
prominent
angles
and
hid
the
unpleasantness
.
Liddy
,
like
a
little
brook
,
though
shallow
,
was
always
rippling
;
her
presence
had
not
so
much
weight
as
to
task
thought
,
and
yet
enough
to
exercise
it
.
On
the
table
lay
an
old
quarto
Bible
,
bound
in
leather
.
Liddy
looking
at
it
said
,
—
"
Did
you
ever
find
out
,
miss
,
who
you
are
going
to
marry
by
means
of
the
Bible
and
key
?
"
"
Don
’
t
be
so
foolish
,
Liddy
.
As
if
such
things
could
be
.
"
"
Well
,
there
’
s
a
good
deal
in
it
,
all
the
same
.
"
"
Nonsense
,
child
.
"
"
And
it
makes
your
heart
beat
fearful
.
Some
believe
in
it
;
some
don
’
t
;
I
do
.
"
"
Very
well
,
let
’
s
try
it
,
"
said
Bathsheba
,
bounding
from
her
seat
with
that
total
disregard
of
consistency
which
can
be
indulged
in
towards
a
dependent
,
and
entering
into
the
spirit
of
divination
at
once
.
"
Go
and
get
the
front
door
key
.
"
Liddy
fetched
it
.
"
I
wish
it
wasn
’
t
Sunday
,
"
she
said
,
on
returning
.
"
Perhaps
’
tis
wrong
.
"
