The wood was all alive with singing-birds, and with the calling of
cuckoo and wood-pigeon. There were deep patches of green shade and
lighter patches of yellow sunlight, in which the iris leaves gleamed with
a sheeny white, and a shimmering blue sea of ground-ivy spread all
through the wood. It struck ten, and as the heat increased the birds sang
less and the droning of the bees grew more distinct, and at last I got
up, shook myself, smoothed my smock, and making a turn, came out on the
road that led to the house.
Though my disguise was good, I fear I made but an indifferent bad
ploughboy when walking, and found a difficulty in dealing with my hands,
not knowing how ploughboys are wont to carry them. So I came round in
front of the house, and gave a rat-tat on the door, while my pulse beat
as loud inside of me as ever did the knocker without. The sound ran round
the building, and backwards among the walks, and all was silent as
before. I waited a minute, and was for knocking again, thinking there
might be no one in the house, and then heard a light footstep coming
along the corridor, yet durst not look through the window to see who it
was in passing, as I might have done, but kept myself close to the door.
The bolts were being drawn, and a girl's voice asked, 'Who is there?' I
gave a jump to hear that voice, knowing it well for Grace's, and had a
mind to shout out my name.
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