It was
blowing big guns, and as the rain whirled down the drops struck upon
her face like spray. She crossed the moat bridge, and went out into
the parkland beyond. The air was full of dead leaves, and the grass
rustled with them as though it were alive, for this was the first wind
since the frost. The great boughs of the oaks rattled and groaned
above her, and high overhead, among the sullen clouds, a flight of
rooks were being blown this way and that.
Ida bent her tall form against the rain and gale, and fought her way
through them. At first she had no clear idea as to where she was
going, but presently, perhaps from custom, she took the path that ran
across the fields to Honham Church. It was a beautiful old church,
particularly as regards the tower, one of the finest in the county,
which had been partially blown down and rebuilt about the time of
Charles I. The church itself had originally been founded by the
Boissey family, and considerably enlarged by the widow of a de la
Molle, whose husband had fallen at Agincourt, "as a memorial for
ever." There, upon the porch, were carved the "hawks" of the de la
Molles, wreathed round with palms of victory; and there, too, within
the chancel, hung the warrior's helmet and his dinted shield.
Nor was he alone, for all around lay the dust of his kindred, come
after the toil and struggle of their stormy lives to rest within the
walls of that old church.
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