The
house stood in front of him--four bare wooden walls, brown painted, and
without veranda or ornament; its barns, large and ugly, were close
beside it. Beyond, some stunted firs grew in a dip of the cliff, but on
the level ground the farmer had felled every tree. The homestead itself
was ugly; but the land was green, and the sea lay broad and blue, its
breast swelling to the evening sun. The air blew sweet over field and
cliff, add the music of the incoming tide was heard below the
pine-fringed bank. Caius, however, was not in the receptive mind which
appreciates outward things. His attention was not thoroughly aroused
from himself till the sound of harsh voices struck his ear.
Between the farmhouse and the barns, on a place worn bare by the feet of
men and animals, the farmer and his wife stood in hot dispute. The
woman, tall, gaunt, and ill-dressed, spoke fast, passion and misery in
all her attitude and in every tone and gesture. The man, chunky in
figure and churlish in demeanour, held a horsewhip in his hand,
answering his wife back word for word in language both profane and
violent.
It did not occur to Caius that the whip was in his hand otherwise than
by accident. The men in that part of the world were not in the habit of
beating their wives, but no sooner did he see the quarrel than his wrath
rose hot against the man.
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