The fire warmed them; life and friendship yet blessed them; but Jessie lay cold, coffined, solitary--only the sod screening her from the storm.
* * * * *
Mrs. Yorke folded up her knitting, cut short the music lesson and the lecture on politics, and concluded her visit to the cottage, at an hour early enough to ensure her return to Briarmains before the blush of sunset should quite have faded in heaven, or the path up the fields have become thoroughly moist with evening dew.
The lady and her daughters being gone, Caroline felt that she also ought to resume her scarf, kiss her cousin's cheek, and trip away homeward. If she lingered much later dusk would draw on, and Fanny would be put to the trouble of coming to fetch her. It was both baking and ironing day at the rectory, she remembered--Fanny would be busy. Still, she could not quit her seat at the little parlour window. From no point of view could the west look so lovely as from that lattice with the garland of jessamine round it, whose white stars and green leaves seemed now but gray pencil outlines--graceful in form, but colourless in tint--against the gold incarnadined of a summer evening--against the fire-tinged blue of an August sky at eight o'clock p.m.

Jessie lay cold, coffined, solitary - only the earth screening her from the storm.
Mrs. Yorke folded up her knitting, cut short the lecture on politics, and concluded her visit before the path up the fields should have become thoroughly moist with evening dew.
The lady and her daughters being gone, Caroline felt that she also ought to go home. If she lingered much later, dusk would draw on, and Fanny would be put to the trouble of coming to fetch her. Still, she could not quit her seat at the little parlour window. Her eyes turned west towards the fire-tinged August sky.
