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Charlotte sat on the top of the slope in the field below Barrow Farm John Conway lay at her feet The tall beeches stood round the she could see the far, the front built out there in a huge door-place that carried a cross ed room under its roof

Low heavy-browed old of the stone All their rooable by the fir-trees, Mr and Mrs Burton's under the far gable by the el out

She could see the shallow garden dareen field by its wall, spilling trails ofwith pink phlox and white phlox, the blue spires of the lupins piercing up through the froth

Sunday evening half an hour before -time From September nineteen-thirteen to December--to March nineteen-fourteen, to June--she had been at the faro John had coate, under the elms, she could see Gwinnie astride over the tilted bucket, feeding the calves It innie's turn

She heard the house door open and shut The Burtons ca the down she saw John's eyes blinking up at her through their lashes His chest showed a red-brown V in the open neck of his sweater He had been quiet a long time His voice came up out of his quietness, sudden and queer

"Keep your head like that onedown I want your eyelids Now I know"

"What?"

"What you're like You're like Jeanne d'Arc There's a picture--the photo of a stone head, I think--in a hel drooped eyelids If it isn't Jeanne it ought to be Anyhow it's you That's what's been bothering ht it was just because you had black hair bobbed like a fifteen century page But it isn't that It's her forehead and her blunt nose, and her innocent, heroic chin And the thick, beautiful mouth And the look--as if she could see behind her eyelids--dreadful things going to happen to her All the butchery"

"I don't see any dreadful things going to happen to ht is s I shall call you Jeanne You ought to wear arain "What are you thinking of?"