I want to
die at home--not merely in my own country, but in my own village, and be
buried there under the trees I know, in the sight of the church and the
houses I know, and the trout stream where I fished when I was a boy.
You'll laugh, no doubt."
Feversham was not laughing. The words had a queer ring of familiarity to
him, and he knew why. They never had actually been spoken to him, but
they might have been and by Ethne Eustace.
"No, I am not laughing," he answered. "I understand." And he spoke with
a warmth of tone which rather surprised Trench. And indeed an actual
friendship sprang up between the two men, and it dated from that night.
It was a fit moment for confidences. Lying side by side in that
enclosure, they made them one to the other in low voices. The shouts and
yells came muffled from within the House of Stone, and gave to them both
a feeling that they were well off. They could breathe; they could see;
no low roof oppressed them; they were in the cool of the night air. That
night air would be very cold before morning and wake them to shiver in
their rags and huddle together in their corner. But at present they lay
comfortably upon their backs with their hands clasped behind their heads
and watched the great stars and planets burn in the blue dome of sky.
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