MOOR FIRES

by

E. H. YOUNG

Author of "WILLIAM" and "THE MALLETTS"

New YorkHarcourt, Brace and Company

Printed in the U. S. A. 

CHAPTER I

In the dusk of a spring evening, Helen Caniper walked on the long roadfrom the town. Making nothing of the laden basket she carried, she wentquickly until she drew level with the high fir-wood which stood like abarrier against any encroachment on the moor, then she looked back andsaw lights darting out to mark the streets she had left behind, asthough a fairy hand illuminated a giant Christmas-tree. 

Among the other trees, black and mysterious on the hill, a cold wind wasmoaning. "It's the night wind, " Helen murmured. The moor was inhabitedby many winds, and she knew them all, and it was only the night windthat cried among the trees, for, fearless though it seemed, it had adread of the hours that made it. The fir-trees, their bare trunks like apalisade, swayed gently, and Helen's skirts flapped about her ankles. More lights glimmered in the town, and she turned towards home. 

The moor stretched now on either hand until it touched a sky from whichall the colour had not departed, and the road shone whitely, pale butcourageous as it kept its lonely path. Helen's feet tapped clearly asshe hurried on, and when she approached the road to Halkett's Farm, thesound of her going was mingled with that of hoofs, and an old horse, drawing a dog-cart, laboured round the corner. It was the horse Dr. Mackenzie had always driven up the long road; it was now driven by hisson, and when he saw that some one motioned him to stop, the youngdoctor drew up. He bent forward to see her. 

"It's Helen, " he said. "Oh, Helen, how are you?"

She stood by the step and looked up at him. "I'm very well. I'm glad youknew me. It's three years. "

"And your hair is up. "

"Miriam and I are twenty, " she said gravely, and he laughed. 

The horse shook himself and set the dog-cart swaying; the jingle of hisbit went adventurously across the moor; heather-stalks scratched eachother in the wind. 

"You haven't lighted your lamps, " Helen said. "Somebody might run intoyou. "

"They might. " He jumped down and fumbled for his matches. "The comfortis that we're not likely to do it to any one, at our pace. When I'vemade my fortune I shall buy a horse from George Halkett, one that willgo fast and far. "

"But I like this one, " said Helen. "We used to watch for him when we hadmeasles. He's mixed up with everything. Don't have another one. "

"The fortune's still to make, " he said. He had lighted the nearer lampand Helen's slim figure had become a thing of shadows. He took thebasket from her and put it under the seat. She was staring over thehorse's back. 

"There was a thing we used to do. We had bets about Dr. Mackenzie'sties, what colour they were; but we never won or lost, because we neversaw them. His beard was so big. And once Miriam pretended there was ahuge spider on the ceiling, but he wouldn't look up, though shescreamed. He told her not to be a silly little girl. So we never sawthem. "

"I'm not surprised, " the young doctor said. "He didn't wear them. Whatwas the use? He was a practical man. "

"Oh, " Helen cried, "isn't that just like life! You bother and botherabout something that doesn't exist and make yourself miserable fornothing. No, I won't do it. "

"Do you?"

"It's a great fault of mine, " she said. 

He went round the back of the cart and lighted the other lamp. "Now I'mgoing to drive you home. That basket's heavy. "

"I have been shopping, " she explained. "Tomorrow a visitor is coming. "

"Your father?" he asked quickly. 

"No; he hasn't been again. He's ill, Notya says, and it's too cold forhim here. Dr. Zebedee, aren't you glad to be back on the moor?"

"Well, I don't see much of it, you know. My work is chiefly in thestreets--but, yes, I think I'm glad. "

"We've been watching for you, Miriam and I. She'll be angry that I'veseen you first. No; she's thinking too much about tomorrow. It's anuncle who's coming, a kind of uncle--Notya's brother. We haven't seenhim before and Miriam's excited. "

"And you're not. "

"I don't like new things. They feel dangerous. You don't know whatthey'll bring. "

"I thought you weren't going to make yourself miserable, " he said. "Jumpup, and we'll take home the fatted calf. "

She hesitated. "I'm not going straight home. "

"Let me deliver the calf, then. "

"No, please; it isn't heavy. " She went to the horse's head and strokedhis nose. "I've never known his name. What is it?"

"Upon my word, I don't believe he has one. He's just the horse. That'swhat we always called him. "

"'The horse'! How dreary! It makes him not a person. "

"But the one and only horse!"

"I don't suppose he minds very much, " she murmured. "Good-night, horse. Good-night, Zebedee. My basket, please. I'm very late. "

"I wish you'd let me take you home. You oughtn't to go wandering overthe moor by night. "

She laughed. "I've done it all my life. Do you remember, " she went onslowly, "what I once told you about the fires? Oh, years ago, when Ifirst saw you. "

"The fires?" he said. 

"Never mind if you've forgotten. "

"I don't forget things, " he said; "I'm remembering. " His mind was urgedby his sense of her disappointment and by the sight of her face, whichthe shadows saddened. The basket hung on her arm and her hands wereclasped together: she looked like a child and he could not believe inher twenty years. 

"It doesn't matter, " she said softly. 

"But I do remember. It's the spring fires. "

"The Easter fires. "

"Of course, of course, you told me--"

"I think they must be burning now. That's where I'm going--to look forthem. "

"I wish I could come too. "

"Do you? Do you? Oh!" She made a step towards him. "The others nevercome. They laugh but I still go on. It's safer, isn't it? It can't doany harm to pray. And now that Uncle Alfred's coming--"

"Is he a desperate character?"

She made a gesture with her clasped hands. "It's like opening a door. "

"You mustn't be afraid of open doors, " he said--"you, who live on themoor. " He grasped her shoulder in a friendly fashion. "You mustn't beafraid of anything. Go and find your fires, and don't forget to pray forme. "

"Of course not. Good-night. Will you be coming again soon?"

"Old Halkett's pretty ill, " was his reply and, climbing to his seat, hewaved his hat and bade the old horse move on. 

The moor lay dark as a lake at Helen's feet and the rustling of theheather might have been the sound of water fretted by the wind--deep, black water whose depths no wind could stir. At Helen's right hand adifferent darkness was made by the larch-trees clothing Halkett'shollow, and on her left a yellow gleam, like the light at the mastheadof a ship at sea, betrayed her home. Behind her, and on the other sideof the road, the Brent Farm dogs began to bark, and in the next instantthey were answered from many points of the moor, so that houses andfarmsteads became materialized in the night which had hidden them andHelen stood in a circle of echoing sound. Often, as a child, she hadwaked at such a clamour, and pictured homeless people walking on theroad, and now, though she heard no footsteps, she seemed to feel theapproach of noiseless feet, bringing the unknown. For her, youth'sdelights of strength and fleetness were paid for by the thought of themany years in which her happiness could be assailed. Age might befeeble, but it had, she considered, the consolation of knowing somethingof the limitations of its pain. She wished she could put an unscalablewall about the moor, so that the soundless feet should stay outside, forshe did not know that already she had heard the footsteps of those whoseactions were weaving her destiny. Helen Caniper might safely throw openall her doors. 

The barking of the dogs lessened and then ceased; once more only thewhistling of the wind broke the silence, until Helen's skirts rubbed theheather as she ran and something jingled in her basket. She went fastto find her fires and, while her mind was fixed on them, she was stillaware of the vast moor she loved, its darkness, its silence, the smellsit gave out, the promise of warmth and fertility in its bosom. She couldnot clearly see the ground, but her feet knew it: heather, grass, stones, and young bracken were to be overcome; here and there a rock orthorn-bush loomed out blacker than the rest in warning; sometimes a dipin the earth must be avoided; once or twice dim grey objects rose up andbecame sheep that bleated out of her way, and always, as she ran, shemounted. For a time she was level with the walled garden of her home, but, passing its limit, she topped a sudden steepness, descended it witha rush, and lost all glimmerings from road or dwelling-place. 

A greenish sky, threatening to turn black, delicately roofed the world;no stars had yet come through, and, far away, as though in search ofthem, the moor rose to a line of hills. Their rounded tops had nodefiance, their curve was that of a wave without the desire to break, held in its perfect contour by its own content. The moor itself had thepatience of the wisdom which is faith, and Helen might have heard itlaughing tenderly if she had been less concerned with the discovery ofher fires. She stood still, and her eyes found only the moor, the rocksand hills. 

"I must go on, " she said in a whisper. And now, for pleasure in herstrength, she went in running bounds over a stretch of close-croppedturf, and space became so changed for her that she hardly knew whethershe leapt a league or foot; and it was all one, for she had a feeling ofgreat power and happiness in a world which was empty without loneliness. And then a creeping line of fire arrested her. Not far off, it wentsnake-like over the ground, disappeared, and again burned out morebrightly: it edged the pale smoke like embroidery on a veil, and behindthat veil there lived and moved the smoke-god she had created forherself when she was ten years old. She could not hear the crackling ofthe twigs nor smell their burning, and she had no wish to draw nearer. She stretched out her arms and dropped to her knees and prayed. 

"Oh, Thou, behind the smoke, " she said aloud, "guard the moor and us. Wewill not harm your moor. Amen. "

This was the eleventh time she had prayed to the God behind the smoke, and he had guarded both the Canipers and the moor, but now she felt theneed to add more words to the childish ones she had never changed. 

"And let me be afraid of nothing, " she said firmly, and hesitated for asecond. "For beauty's sake. Amen. "

CHAPTER II

After her return over the moor, through the silent garden and the dimhouse, Helen was dazzled by the schoolroom lights and she stood blinkingin the doorway. 

"We're all here and all hungry, " Rupert said. "You're late. "

"I know. " She shut the door and took off her hat. "Miriam, I metZebedee. "

"Oh, " Miriam said on a disapproving note. She lay on the sofa as thougha wind had flung her there, and her eyes were closed. In her composureshe looked tired, older than Helen and more experienced, but her nextwords came youthfully enough. "Just like you. You get everything. "

"I couldn't help it, " Helen said mildly. "He came round the corner fromHalkett's Farm. Ought I to have run away?"

Miriam sat up and laughed, showing dark eyes and shining little teethwhich transformed her face into a childish one. 

"Is he different?"

"I couldn't see very well. "

"He is different, " Rupert said; and John, on the window-seat, put downhis book to listen. 

"Tell us, " Miriam said. 

"Nothing much, but he is older. "

"So are we. "

"Not in his way. "

"We haven't had the chance, " Miriam complained. "I suppose you mean hehas been doing things he ought not to do in London. "

"Not necessarily, " Rupert answered lightly and John picked up his bookagain. He generally found that his excursions into the affairs of menand women were dull and fruitless, while his book, on the subject ofmanures, satisfied his intellect and was useful in its results. 

There was a silence in which both girls, though differently, wereconscious of a dislike for Zebedee's unknown adventures. 

Miriam laid her head on the red cushion. "I wish tomorrow would come. "

"I bought turbot, " Helen said. "I should think he's the kind of man wholikes it. "

"I suggest delicate sauces, " Rupert said. 

"You needn't be at all anxious about his food, " Miriam assured them. "I'm going to be the attraction of this visit. "

"How d'you know?"

Her teeth caught her under-lip. "Because I mean to be. "

"Well, don't make a fool of yourself, my dear. "

"She will, " John growled. 

Helen spoke quickly. "Oh, Miriam, I told Zebedee about Dr. Mackenzie'sties, and, do you know, he never wore any at all!"

"Old pig! He wouldn't. Mean. Scotch. We might have thought of that. IfDaniel had a beard he would be just the same. "

"It may surprise you to learn, " Rupert remarked, "that Daniel takes agreat interest in his appearance lately. "

"That's me again, " Miriam said complacently. 

"Ugly people are rather like that, " Helen said. "But he wears terribleboots. "

"He's still at the collar-and-tie stage, " Rupert said. "We'll get toboots later. He needs encouragement--and control. A great deal ofcontrol. He had a bright blue tie on yesterday. "

"Ha!" Miriam shouted in a strangled laugh, and thrust her face into thecushion. "That's me, too!" she cried. "I told him blue would suit him. "

Rupert wagged his head. "I can't see the fun in that kind of thing, making a fool of the poor beggar. "

"Well, " she flashed, "he shouldn't ask me to marry him!"

"You'd complain if he didn't. "

"Of course I should--of course! I'm so dull that I'm really grateful tohim, but I'm so dull that I have to tease him, too. It's only clutchingat straws, and Daniel likes it. "

"He's wasted half a crown on his tie, though. I'm going to tell him thatyou're not to be trusted. "

"Then I shall devote myself to Zebedee. "

"You won't influence Zebedee's ties, " Helen said, "or his collars--theshiniest ones I have ever seen. "

"She won't influence him at all, my good Helen. What's she got to do itwith?"

"This!" Miriam said, rising superbly and displaying herself. 

"Shut her up, somebody!" John begged. "This is beastly. Has she nothingbetter to do with herself than attracting men? If you met a woman whomade that her profession instead of her play, you'd pass by on the otherside. "

Miriam flushed, frowned, and recovered herself. "I might. I don't thinkso. I can't see any harm in pleasing people. If I were clever andfrightened them, or witty and made them laugh, it would be just thesame. I happen to be beautiful. " She spread her hands and waved them. "Tell birds not to fly, tell lambs not to skip, tell me to sit and darnthe socks!" She stood on the fender and looked at herself in the glass. "Besides, " she said, "I don't care. I'm not responsible. If Notya hadn'tburied us all here, I might have been living a useful life!" She cast asly glance at John. "I might be making butter like Lily Brent. "

"Not half so good!"

She ignored that, and went on with her thoughts. "I shall ask UncleAlfred what made Notya bring us here. "

She turned and stood, very slim in her dark dress, her eyelids lowered, her lips parted, expectant of reproof and ready with defiance, but noone spoke. She constantly forgot that her family knew her, but, remembering that fact, her tilted eyebrows twitched a little. Her facebroke into mischievous curves and dimples. 

"What d'you bet?"

"No, " Helen said, thinking of her stepmother. "Notya wouldn't like it. "

"Bah! Pish! Faugh! Pshaw--and ugh! What do I care? I shall!"

"Oh, a rotten thing to do, " said John. 

"And, anyhow, it doesn't matter, " Helen said. "We're here. "

"Rupert?" Miriam begged. 

"Better not, " he answered kindly. "Not worth while. " He lay back in abig chair and watched the world through his tobacco smoke. He had allMiriam's darkness and much of her beauty, but he had already acquired atolerant view of things which made him the best of companions, the leastambitious of young men. "Live and let live, my dear. "

"I shan't promise. I suppose I'm not up to your standards of honour, butif a person makes a mystery, why shouldn't the others try to find itout? That's what it's for! And there's nothing else to do. "

"You're inventing the mystery, " Rupert said. "If Notya and our absentparent didn't get on together--and who could get on with a man who'salways ill?--they were wise in parting, weren't they?"

"But why the moor?"

"Ah, I think that was a sudden impulse, and she has always been tooproud to own that it was a mistake. "

"That's the first sensible thing any one has said yet, " John remarked. "I quite agree with you. It's my own idea. "

"I'm a young man of penetration, as I've told you all before. "

"And shoved into a bank!" John grumbled. 

"I like the bank. It's a cheerful place. There's lots of gold about, andpeople come and talk to me through the bars. "

"But, " Helen began, on the deep notes of her voice, "what should we havedone if she had repented and taken us away? What should we have done?"

"We might have been happy, " Miriam said. 

"John, what would you have done?" Helen persisted. 

"Said nothing, grown up as fast as I could, and come back. "

"So should I. "

Rupert chuckled. "You wouldn't, Helen. You'd have stayed with Notya andMiriam and me and looked after us all, and longed for this place anddenied yourself. "

"And made us all uncomfortable. " Miriam pointed at Helen's grey dress. "What have you been doing?"

Helen looked down at the dark marks where her knees had pressed theground. 

"It will dry, " she said, and went nearer the fire. "Zebedee says oldHalkett's ill. "

"Drink and the devil, " Rupert hummed. "He'll die soon. "

"Hope so, " John said fervently. "I don't like to think of the bloatedold beast alive. "

"He'll be horrider dead, I think, " said Helen. "Dead things should bebeautiful. "

"Well, he won't be. Moreover, nothing is, for long. You've seen sheep'scarcasses after the snows. Don't be romantic. "

"I said they should be. "

"It's a good thing they're not. They wouldn't fertilize the ground. Can't we have supper?"

"Here's Notya!" Miriam uttered the warning, and began to poke the fire. 

The room was entered by a small lady who carried her head well. She hadfair, curling hair, serious blue eyes and a mouth which had beenpuckered into a kind of sternness. 

"So you have come back, Helen, " she said. "You should have told me. Ihave been to the road to look for you. You are very late. "

"Yes. I'm sorry. I met Dr. Mackenzie. "

"He ought to have brought you home. "

"He wanted to. I got turbot for Uncle Alfred. It's on the kitchentable. "

"Then I expect the cat has eaten it, " said Mrs. Caniper withresignation, but her mouth widened delightfully into what might havebeen its natural shape. "Miriam, go and put it in the larder. "

Surreptitiously and in farewell, Miriam dropped the poker on Helen'stoes. "Why can't she send you?" she muttered. "It's your turbot. "

"But it's your cat. "

Wearing what the Canipers called her deaf expression, their stepmotherlooked at the closing door. "I did not hear what Miriam said, " sheremarked blandly. 

"She was talking to me. "

"Oh!" Mrs. Caniper flushed slowly. "It is discourteous to have privateconversations in public, Helen. I have tried to impress that onyou--unsuccessfully, it seems; but remember that I have tried. "

"Yes, thank you, " Helen said, with serious politeness. She made amovement unnatural to her in its violence, because she was forcingherself to speak. "But you don't mind if the boys do things like that. "She hesitated and plunged again. "It's Miriam. You're not fair to her. You never have been. "

Over Mrs. Caniper's small face there swept changes of expression whichHelen was not to forget. Anger and surprise contended together, wideningher eyes and lips, and these were both overcome, after a struggle, by arevelation of self-pity not less amazing to the woman than to the girl. 

"Has she ever been fair to me?" Mildred Caniper asked stumblingly, before she went in haste, and Helen knew well why she fumbled for thedoor-handle. 

The acute silence of the unhappy filled the room: John rose, collidedclumsily with the table and approached the hearth. 

"Now, what did you do that for?" he said. "I can't stomach these familyaffairs. "

Helen smoothed her forehead and subdued the tragedy in her eyes. "I hadto do it, " she breathed. "It was true, wasn't it?" She looked at Rupert, but he was looking at the fire. 

"True, yes, " said John, "but it does Miriam no harm. A littleopposition--"

"No, " said Helen, "no. We don't want to drive her to--to being silly. "

"She is silly, " John said. 

"No, " Helen said again. "She ought not to live here, that's all. "

"She'll have to learn to. Anyhow"--he put his hands into hispockets--"we can't have Notya looking like that. It's--it won't do. "

"It's quite easy not to hurt people, " Helen murmured; "but you had tohurt her yourself, John, about your gardening. "

"That was different, " he said. He was a masculine creature. "I wasfighting for existence. "

"Miriam has an existence, too, you know, " Rupert said. 

From the other side of the hall there came a faint chink of plates andMiriam's low voice singing. 

"She's all right, " John assured himself. 

Helen was smiling tenderly at the sound. "But I wonder why Notya is sohard on her, " she sighed. 

Rupert knocked his pipe against the fender. "I should be very glad toknow what our mother was like, " he said. 

Long ago, out of excess of loyalty, the Canipers had tacitly agreed notto discuss those matters on which their stepmother was determinedlyreserved, and now a certain tightening of the atmosphere revealed thefact that John and Helen were controlling their desires to ask Rupertwhat he meant. 

CHAPTER III

The Canipers had lived on the moor for sixteen years, and Rupert was theonly one of the children who had more distant memories. These were likeflashes of white light on general darkness, for the low house of hismemory was white and the broad-leaved trees of the garden cast theirshadows on a pale wall: there was a white nursery of unlimiteddimensions and a white bath-room with a fluffy mat which comforted thesoles of his feet and tickled his toes. Another recollection was of theday when a lady already faintly familiar to him was introduced by anofficious nurse as his new mother, and when he looked up at her, withinterest in her relationship and admiration for her prettiness, he sawher making herself look very tall and stern as she said clearly, "I amnot your mother, Rupert. "

"Notya mother, " he echoed amiably, and so Mildred Caniper received hername. 

As he grew older, he wondered if he really remembered this occasion orwhether Notya herself had told him of it, but he knew that the house andthe garden wall and the nursery were true. True, too, was a dark manwith a pointed beard whom he called his father, who came and went and atlast disappeared; and his next remembrance was of the moor, the biggestthing he had ever seen, getting blacker and blacker as the carriage-loadof Canipers jogged up the road. The faces of his stepmother, thenursemaid, John and the twins, were like paper lanterns on thebackground of night, things pale and impermanent, swaying to themovements of the carriage while this black, outspread earth threatenedthem, and, with the quick sympathy natural to him even then, he knewthat Notya was afraid of something too. Then the horse stopped andRupert climbed stiffly to the ground and heard the welcome of thefriend whom he was to know thereafter as Mrs. Brent. Her voice andpresence were rich with reassurance: she was fat and hearty, and thethreatening earth had spared her, so he took comfort. The laurels by thesmall iron gate rattled at him as he passed, but Mrs. Brent had each boyby a hand, and no one could be afraid. It was, he remembered, impossiblefor the three to go through the gate abreast. 

"Run in now, " said Mrs. Brent, and when he had obeyed he heard a tallgrandfather clock ticking in the hall. He could see a staircase runningupwards into shadows, and the half-opened doors made him think of themouths of monsters. It seemed a long time before Mrs. Brent followed himand made a cheerful noise. 

With these memories he could always keep the little girls entranced, even when great adventures of their own came to them on the moor, forNotya was a stepmother by her own avowal, and in fairy tales astepmother was always cruel. They pretended to believe that she hadcarried them away by force, that some day they would be rescued andtaken back to the big white nursery and the fluffy white mat; but Helenat last spoilt the game by asserting that she did not want to be rescuedand by refusing to allow Notya to be the villain of the piece. 

"She isn't cruel. She's sad, " Helen explained. 

"Yes, really; but this is pretending, " Rupert said. 

"It's not pretending. It's true, " Miriam said, and she went on with thegame though she had to play alone. At the age of twenty she still playedit: Notya was still the cruel stepmother and Miriam's eyes were eager ona horizon against which the rescuer should stand. At one time he hadbeen splendid and invincible, a knight to save her, and if his place hadnow been taken by the unknown Uncle Alfred, it was only that realismhad influenced her fiction, and with a due sense of economy she used thematerials within her reach. 

Domestic being though Helen was, the white nursery had no attraction forher: she was more than satisfied with her many-coloured one; its floorhad hills and tiny dales, pools and streams, and it was walled bygreater hills and roofed by sky. On it there grew thorn-bushes whichthrust out thin hands, begging for food, in winter, and which wore alady's lovely dress in summertime and a warm red coat for autumn nights. There was bracken, like little walking-sticks in spring, and when theleaves uncurled themselves and spread, they made splendid feathers withwhich to trim a hat or play at ostrich farms; but, best of all and mostfearsome, as the stems shot upwards and overtopped a child, the brackenbecame a forest through which she hardly dared to walk, so dense andinterminable it was. To crawl up and down a fern-covered hillock neededall Helen's resolution and she would emerge panting and wild-eyed, blessing the open country and still watchful for what might follow her. After that experience a mere game of hunters, with John and Rupertroaring like lions and trumpeting like elephants, was a smaller thoughglorious thing, and for hot and less heroic days there was the game ofdairymen, played in the reedy pool or in Halkett's stream with the aidof old milk-cans of many sizes, lent to the Canipers by the lovable Mrs. Brent. 

In those days Mrs. Brent furnished them with their ideas of motherhood. She seemed old to them because her husband was long dead and she wasstout, but she had a dark-eyed girl no older than John, and her shekissed and nursed, scolded, teased and loved with a joyous confidencewhich impressed the Canipers. Their stepmother rarely kissed, herreprimands had not the familiarity of scoldings, and though she had asense of fun which could be reached and used with discretion, there wasno feeling of safety in her company. They were too young to realize thatthis was because she was uncertain of herself, as that puckered mouthrevealed. That she loved them they believed; with all the aloofness oftheir young souls they were thankful that she did not caress them; butthey liked to see Lily Brent fondled by her mother, and they themselvessuffered Mrs. Brent's endearments with a happy sense ofirresponsibility. It was Mrs. Brent who gave them hot cakes when theywent to the dairy to fetch butter or eggs, and who sometimes let themskim the milk and eventually lick the ladle, but she was chieflywonderful because she could tell them about Mr. Pinderwell. Poor Mr. Pinderwell was the late owner of the Canipers' home. He had lived formore than fifty years in the house chosen and furnished for a bride whohad softly fallen ill on the eve of her wedding-day and softly died, andMr. Pinderwell, distracted by his loss, had come to live in the big, lonely house and had grown old and at last died there, in the hall, withno voice to bewail him but the ticking of the grandfather clock. Goingon her daily visit, for she alone was permitted to approach him, Mrs. Brent had found him lying with his face on his outflung arm, "just likea little boy in his bed. "

"And were you frightened?" Miriam asked. 

"There was nothing to be afraid of, my dear, " Mrs. Brent replied. "Deathcomes to all of us. It's a good thing to get used to the look of him. "

Mrs. Brent had been fond of Mr. Pinderwell. He was a gentleman, shesaid, and though his mind had become more and more bewildered towardsthe end, he had been unfailingly courteous to her. She would find himwandering up and down the stairs, carrying a small basket of tools inhis hand, for he took to wood-carving at the last, as the panels of thebedroom doors were witness, and he would stop to speak about the weatherand beg her to allow him to make her some return for all her kindness. 

"I used to clean up the place for him, " Mrs. Brent would alwayscontinue, "and do a little cooking for him, poor old chap! I missed himwhen he'd gone, and I was glad when your mother came and took the house, just as it stood, with his lady's picture and all, and made the placecomfortable again. "

Miriam would press against Mrs. Brent's wide knees. "Will you tell usthe story again, please, Mrs. Brent?"

"If you're good children, but not today. Run along home. "

At that stage of their development they were hardly interested in theportrait of Mr. Pinderwell's bride, hanging above the sofa in thedrawing-room. It was the only picture in the house, and from an ovalframe of gilt a pretty lady, crowned with a plait of hair, looked mildlyon these usurpers of her home. She was not real to them, though forHelen she was to become so, but Mr. Pinderwell, pacing up and down thestairs, carrying a little chisel, was a living friend. On the wide, wind-swept landing, they studied his handiwork on the doors, and theymade a discovery which Mrs. Brent had missed. These roughnesses, knownto their fingers from their first day in the house, were letters, andmade names. Laboriously they spelt them out. Jane, on the door ofHelen's room, was easy; Phoebe, on Miriam's, was for a long timecalled Pehebe; and Christopher, on another, had a familiar andadventurous sound. 

"Funny, " Rupert said. "What are they?"

Helen spoke with that decision which often annoyed her relatives. "Iknow. It's the names of the children he was going to have. Jane andPehebe and Christopher. That's what it is. And these were the rooms he'dsettled for them. Jane is a quiet little girl with a fringe and a whitepinafore, and Pehebe has a sash and cries about things, and Christopheris a strong boy in socks. "

"Stockings, " Rupert said. "He's the oldest. "

"He isn't. He's the baby. He wears socks. He's not so smooth as theothers, and look, poor Mr. Pinderwell hadn't time to put a full stop. I'm glad I sleep in Jane. "

"And of course you give me a girl who cries!" Miriam said. But thecharacters of Mr. Pinderwell's children had been settled, and they werenever altered. Jane and Christopher and Phoebe were added to theinhabitants whom Mildred Caniper did not see, but these three did notleave the landing. They lived there quietly in the shadows, speakingonly in whispers, while Mr. Pinderwell continued his restless trampingand his lady smiled, unwearied, in the drawing-room. 

"He's the only one who can get at her and them, " Helen said in pain. "Idon't know how their mother can bear it. I wonder if she'd mind if wehung her on the landing, but then Mr. Pinderwell might miss her. He's soused to her in the drawing-room, and perhaps she doesn't mind about thechildren. "

"I'm sure she doesn't, " said John, for he thought she had a silly face. 

This was when John and Rupert went to the Grammar School in the town, while the girls did their lessons with Mildred Caniper in the schoolroomof Pinderwell House. Enviously, they watched the boys step across themoor each morning, but their stepmother could not be persuaded to allowthem to go too. The distance was so great, she said, and there was noschool for girls to which she would entrust them. 

"The boys get all the fun, " Miriam said. "They see the people in thestreets, and get a ride in Mrs. Brent's milk-cart nearly every day, andwe sit in the stuffy schoolroom, and Notya's cross. "

"You make her cross on purpose, " Helen said. 

"She shouldn't let me, " Miriam answered with perspicuity. 

"But it's so silly to make ugliness. It's wicked. Do be good, and let'stry to enjoy the lessons and get them over. "

But Miriam was not to be influenced by these wise counsels. Duringlesson hours the strange antipathy between herself and Mildred Caniperoften blazed into a storm, and Helen, who loved to keep life smooth andgracious, had the double mortification of seeing Miriam, whom she loved, made naughtier, and Notya, whom she pitied, made more miserable. 

"Oh, that we'd had an ignorant stepmother!" Miriam cried. "Ifstepmothers are not witches they ought to be dunces. Everybody knowsthat. I'll worry her till she sends us both to boarding-school. "

Mildred Caniper was not to be coerced. Her mouth grew more puckered, hereyes more serious, and her tongue sharper; for though anger, as shefound, was useless, sarcasm was potent, and in time Miriam gave up thebattle. But she did not intend to forgive Mildred Caniper for a singleinjury, and even now that she was almost woman she refused her ownresponsibility. Notya had arranged her life, and the evil of it, atleast, should be laid at Notya's door. 

CHAPTER IV

For Helen, the moor was a personality with moods flecking the solidsubstance of its character, and even Miriam, who avowed her hatred ofits monotony, had to admit an occasional difference. There were dayswhen she thought it was full of secrets and capable of harbouring herown, and there were other days when she forgot its little hills anddales and hiding-places and saw it as a large plain, spread under theglaring eye of the sun, and shelterless, so that when she walked thereshe believed that her body and, in some mysterious way, her soul, werevisible to all men. 

Such a day was that on which Uncle Alfred was expected. Miriam went outwith a basket on her arm to find flowers for the decoration of his room, and she had no sooner banged the garden door behind her and mounted thefirst rise than she suffered from this sensation of walking under aspyglass of great size. There was a wonderful clearness everywhere. Thegrass and young heather were a vivid green, the blue of the sky had acertain harshness and heavily piled clouds rolled across it. Miriamstood on a hillock and gazed at the scene which looked as thoughsomething must happen to it under the concentration of the eye behindthe glass, but she saw nothing more than the familiar things: the whiteroad cutting the moor, Brent Farm lying placidly against the gentlehillside, the chimneys of Halkett's Farm rising amid trees, and her ownhome in its walled garden, and, as she looked, a new thought came toher. Perhaps her expectation was born of a familiarity so intense as tobe unreal and rarely recognized, and with the thought she shut her eyestightly and in despair. Nothing would happen. She did not live in acountry subject to convulsions, and when she opened her eyes the samethings would still be there; yet, to give Providence an opportunity ofproving its strength and her folly, she kept her eyelids lowered for awhile. This was another pastime of her childhood: she tried to temptGod, failed, and laughed at Him instead of at herself. 

She stood there, clad in a colour of rich earth, her head bare andgilded by the sunlight, both hands on the frail basket, and the whiteeyelids giving the strange air of experience to her face. 

"I'm going to look in a minute, " she said, and kept her word. Her darkeyes illumined her face, searched the world and found nothing new. Therewas, indeed, the smallest possible change, but surely it was not one inwhich God would trouble to take a hand. She could see John's figuremoving slowly on the Brent Farm road. A woman's form appeared in theporch and went to meet his: the two stood together in the road. 

Miriam made an impatient noise and turned her back on them. She wasirritated by the sight of another woman's power, even though John wereits sole victim, for she knew that the world of men had only to becomeaware of her existence and the track to Pinderwell House would beimpassable. 

"There's no false modesty about me!" she cried to an astonished sheep, and threw a tuft of heather at it. 

Suddenly she lifted her chin and began to sing on notes too high forher, and tunelessly, as sign of her defiance, and the words of her songdealt with the dreariness of the moor and her determination to escapefrom it; but in the midst of them she laughed delightedly. 

"I'm an idiot! Uncle Alfred's coming. But if he fails me"--she kickedthe basket and ran after it--"I'll do that to him!"

She sang naturally now, in her low, husky voice, as she searched thebanks for violets, but once she broke off to murmur, without humour, with serious belief, "He can't fail me. Who could? No one but Notya. "Such was her faith in the word's acknowledgement of charm. 

She found the violets, but she would not pick them because they staredat her with a confidence like her own, and with an appealing innocence, and thinking she might get primroses under Halkett's larches she went onswiftly, waving the basket as though it were an Indian club. 

She stopped when she met the stream which foamed into the stealthy quietof the wood, and on a large flat stone she sat and was splashed by thenoisy water. The larch-trees were alive with feathery green, and theirarms waved with the wind, but when Miriam peered through their trunks, all was grave and secret except the stream which shouted louder thanbefore in proof of courage. She did not like the trees, but theneighbourhood of Halkett's Farm had an attraction for her. Down there, in the hollow, old Halkett was drinking himself to death, after a lifewhich had been sober in no respect. Mrs. Samson, the charwoman, nowexerting herself at Pinderwell House, and the wife of one of Halkett'shands, had many tales of the old man's wickedness and many nodded hintsthat the son was taking after him. The Halketts were all alike, shesaid. They married young and their wives died early, leaving their mento take comfort, or celebrate relief, in their own way. 

"Ah, yes! They're a hearty, jolly lot, " she often said, and smacked herlips. She was proud and almost envious of the Halketts' exploits, forher own husband was a meek man who never misused her and seldom drank. 

Widely different as Mrs. Samson and Miriam believed themselves to be, they had a common elementary pleasure in things of ill report, a savageexcitement in the presence of certain kinds of danger, and Miriam sathalf fearfully by the larch-wood and hoped something terrible wouldhappen. If there was a bad old man on the moor it was a pity that sheshould not benefit by him, yet she dreaded his approach and would haverun from him, for he was ugly, with a pendulous nose and a small leeringeye. She decided to stay at a safe distance from the house and not toventure among the larches: any primroses growing there should liveundisturbed, timid and pale, within earshot of old Halkett's ragings, and Uncle Alfred must go without his flowers. Helen had said he wouldnot like them, but that was only because Helen did not like the thoughtof Uncle Alfred. Helen did not want new things: she was content: she wasnot wearied by the slow hours, the routine of the quiet house with itsstately, polished furniture, chosen long ago by Mr. Pinderwell, therumbling of cart-wheels on the road, and the homely sounds of Johnworking in the garden. She belonged, as she herself averred, to peopleand to places. 

"And I, " Miriam called aloud, touching her breast--"I belong to nobody, though everything belongs to me. "

In that announcement she outcried the stream, and through thecomparative quietness that followed a hideous noise rumbled and shriekedupwards from the hollow. Bestial, but humanly inarticulate, it filledthe air and ceased: there was the loud thud of furniture overthrown, awoman's voice, and silence. Then, while Miriam's legs shook and her backwas chilled, she heard a sweet, clear whistling and the sound of feet. Aminute later George Halkett issued from the trees. 

"George!" she said, and half put out her hand. 

He stood before her, his mouth still pursed for whistling, and jerkedhis head over his shoulder. 

"You heard that?"

"Yes. Oh, yes!"

"I'm sorry. "

"It's my fault for being here. Was it--what was it?"

His eyes narrowed and she could see a blue slit between lashes so thickthat they seemed furred. 

"My father. He's ill. I'm sorry you heard. "

"Will he--do it again?"

"He's quiet now and Mrs. Biggs can manage him. "

"Isn't she afraid?"

"Not she. " His thoughts plainly left old Halkett and settled themselveson her. "Are you?"

"Yes. " She shuddered. "But then, I'm not used to it. "

He was beating his leggings with his cane. "There's a lot in use, " hesaid vaguely. He was a tall man, and on his tanned face were no signs ofthe excesses imputed to him, perhaps out of vainglory, by Mrs. Samson. Abrown moustache followed the line of a lip which was sometimes poutedsullenly, yet with a simplicity which could be lovable. The hair wasshort and crisp on his round head. 

Miriam watched his shapely hands playing with the cane, and she lookedup to find his eyes attentively on her. She smiled without haste. Shehad a gift for smiling. Her mouth stretched delicately, her lips partedto show a gleam of teeth, opened widely for a flash, and closed again. 

"What are you laughing at?" he asked her, and there was a faint glow inhis cheeks. 

"That wasn't laughing. That was smiling. When I laugh I say ha, ha!"

"Well, you looked pleased about something, " he mumbled. 

"No, I was just being friendly to you. "

He took a step nearer. "That's all very well. Last time I met you youhadn't a look for me, and you saw me right enough. "

"Yes, George, I saw you, but I wasn't in the mood for you. "

"And now you are?"

She looked down. "Do you like people always to be the same? I don't. "Laughter bubbled in her voice. "I get moments, George, when my thoughtsare so--so celestial that though I see earthly things like you, I don'tunderstand them. They're like shadows, like trees walking. " She pointeda finger. "Tell me where that comes from!"

He looked about him. "What?"

She addressed the stream. "He doesn't know the foundation of the Englishlanguage, English morals--I said morals, George--the spiritual food ofhis fathers. Do you ever go to church?"

He did not answer: he was frowning at his boots. 

"Neither do I, " she said. "Help me up. "

His hand shot out, but she did not take it. She leapt to her feet andjumped the stream, and when he said something in a low voice she put herfingers to her ears and shook her head, pretending that she could nothear and smiling pleasantly. Then she beckoned to him, but it was histurn to shake his head. 

"Puss, puss, puss!" she called, twitching her finger at him. "Don'tlaugh! Well, I'll come to you. " At his side, she looked up solemnly. "Let us be sensible and go where we needn't shout at each other. Besidethat rock. I want to tell you something. "

When they had settled themselves on a cushion of turf, she drew herknees to her chin and clasped her hands round them, and in that positionshe swayed lightly to and fro. 

"I think I am going away, " she said, and stared at the horizon. For aspace she listened to the chirping of a cheerful insect and the small, regular noise of Halkett's breathing, but as he made no other sound sheturned sharply and looked at him. 

"All right, " he said. 

She moved impatiently, for that was not what she wished to hear, and, even if it expressed his feeling, it was the wrong word. He hadroughnesses which almost persuaded her to neglect him. 

"Aren't you sorry?"

There was courage in his decision to be truthful. He showed her the fullblue of his eyes, and said "Yes" so simply that she felt compassionate. "Where?" he added. 

"I'm going to be adopted by an uncle, " she said boldly. 

"You'll like that?"

"I'm tired of the moor. "

"You don't fit it. I couldn't tire of it, but it'll be--different whenyou've gone. "

She consoled him. "I may not go at once. "

"How soon?"

"I don't know. "

"Are you really going?" he asked and his look pleaded with her forhonesty. 

"I shall have to arrange it all with Uncle Alfred. "

He straightened himself against the rock, but he said nothing. 

"And we're just beginning to be friends, " she added sensibly, with thefaintest accent of regret. 

At that he stirred again, and "No, " he said steadily, "that's not true. We're not friends--couldn't be. You think I'm a fool, but I can seeyou're despising me all the time. I can see that, and I wonder why. "

She caught her lip. "Well, George, " she began, and thought quickly. "Ihave heard dreadful stories about you. You can't expect me to be--not tobe careful with you. "

"What stories?" he demanded. 

"Oh! I couldn't tell you. "

"H'm. There never was a Halkett but was painted so black that he got tothink it was his natural colour. That doesn't matter. And you don't careabout the stories. You've some notion--D'you know that I went to thesame school as your brothers?"

"Yes, I know. " She swung herself to her knees. "But you're not likethem. But that isn't it either. It's because you're a man. " She laugheda little as she knelt before him. "I can't help feeling that I can--thatmen are mine--to play with. There! I've told you a secret. "

"I'd guessed it long ago, " he muttered. He stood up and turned aside. "You're not going to play with me. "

"Just a little bit, George!"

"Not a little bit. "

"Very well, " she said humbly, and rose too. "I may never see you again, so I'll say good-bye. "

"Good-bye, " he answered, and held her hand. 

"And if I don't go away, and if I feel that I don't want to play withyou, but just to--well, really to be friends with you, can I be?"

"I don't know, " he said slowly. "I don't trust you. "

She nodded, teasing her lip again. "Very well, " she repeated. "I shallremember. Yes. You're going to be very unhappy, you know. "

"Why?" he asked dully. 

"For saying that to me. "

"But it's the truth. "

She shook her little hands at him and spoke loudly. "You seem to thinkthe truth's excuse enough for anything, but you're wrong, George, and ifyou were worth it, I should hate you. "

Then she turned from him, and as he watched her run towards home hewished he had lied to her and risked bewitchment. 

CHAPTER V

The efforts of Mildred Caniper, Helen and Mrs. Samson produced abrighter polish on floors and furniture, a richer brilliance from brass, a whiter gleam from silver, in a house which was already irreproachable, and the smell of cleanliness was overcome by that of wood fires in thesitting-rooms and in Christopher where Uncle Alfred was to sleep. A bowlof primroses, brought by John from Lily Brent's garden and as yellow asher butter, stood on a table near the visitor's bed: the firelight castshadows on the white counterpane, a new rug was awaiting Uncle Alfred'sfeet. In the dining-room, the table was spread with the best cloth andthe candles were ready to be lighted. 

"When we see the trap, " Miriam said, "I'll go round with a taper. Andwe'd better light the lamp in the kitchen passage or Uncle Alfred maytrip over something when he hangs up his coat. "

"There won't be anything for him to trip over, " Helen said. 

"How do you know? It's just the sort of accident that happens tofamilies that want to make a good impression. We'd better do it. Whereare the steps?"

"The lamp hasn't been trimmed for months, and we can't have a smell ofoil. Leave it alone. The hall is so beautifully dim. Rupert must takehis coat and hang it up for him. "

"Very well, " Miriam said resignedly; "but if Notya or John had suggestedthe lamp, you would have jumped at it. "

"No, I should have fetched the steps. "

"Oh, funny, funny! Now I'm going to dress. "

"There are two hours. "

"It will take me as long as that. What shall I wear? Black or red? It'simportant, Helen. Tell me. "

"Black is safer. "

"Yes, if only I had pearls. I should look lovely in black and pearls. "

"Pearls, " Helen said slowly, "would suit me. "

"You're better without them. "

"I shall never have them. "

"When I've a lot of money I'll give you some. "

"Thank you, " Helen said. 

"Because, " Miriam called out when she was half way up the stairs, "I'mgoing to marry a rich man. "

"It would be wise, " Helen answered, and went to the open door. 

She could hear Notya moving in her bedroom, and she wondered how asister must feel at the approach of a brother she had not seen for manyyears. She knew that if she should ever be parted from John or Rupertthere would be no shyness at their meeting and no effusion: things wouldbe just as they had been, for she was certain of an affection based onunderstanding, and now the thought of her brothers kept her warm inspite of the daunting coldness of the light lying on the moor and thefact that doors were opening to a stranger. 

She checked a little sigh and stepped on to the gravel path, rounded thehouse and crossed the garden to find John locking up the hen-house forthe night. He glanced at her but did not speak, and she stood with herhands clasped before her and watched the swaying of the poplars. Theleaves were spreading and soon they would begin their incessantwhispering while they peeped through the windows of the house to seewhat the Canipers were doing. 

"They know all our secrets, " she said aloud. 

John dropped the key into his pocket. "Have we any?"

"Perhaps not. I should have said our fears. "

"Our hopes, " he said stubbornly. 

"I haven't many of those, " she told him and, to hide her trouble, sheput the fingers of both hands to her forehead. 

"What's the matter with you? You sound pretty morbid. "

"No, I'm only--careful. John, are you afraid of life?"

His eyes fell on the rows of springing vegetables. "Look at 'em comingup, " he murmured. "Rather not. I couldn't grow things. " He gathered uphis tools and put them in the shed. 

"You see, " she said, "one never knows what's going to happen, but it'sno good worrying, and I suppose one must just go on. "

"It's the only thing to do, " John assured her gravely. "Have you madeyourself beautiful for the uncle?"

She pointed to an upper window smeared with light. "I have left that toMiriam, but I must go and put on my best frock. "

"You always look all right, " he said. "I suppose it's because yourhair's so smooth. "

"No, " she answered, and laughed with her transforming gaiety, "it's justbecause I'm mediocre and don't get noticed. "

He hesitated and decided to be bold. "I'll tell you something, as you'reso down in the mouth. Rupert thinks you're better looking than Miriam. There! Go and look at yourself. " He waved her off, and the questionsfell from her lips unuttered. 

She lighted a candle and went upstairs, but when she had passed into thedark peace of Jane and put the candle on her dressing-table, she foundshe needed more illumination by which to see this face which Rupertconsidered fair. 

"Miriam will have heaps of them, " she said and knocked at Phoebe'sdoor. 

"I've come to borrow a candle, " she said as she was told to enter, andadded, "Oh, what waste! I hope Notya won't come in. "

"She can't unless I let her, " Miriam answered grimly. 

There were lights on the mantelpiece, on the dressing-table, on thewashstand, and two in tall sticks burned before the cheval glass asthough it had been an altar. 

"You can take one of them, " Miriam said airily. 

The warm whiteness of her skin gleamed against her under-linen like apale fruit fallen by chance on frozen snow: her hair was held up by thewhite comb she had been using, and this stood out at an impetuous angle. She went nearer to the mirror. 

"I've been thinking, " she said, "what a lovely woman my mother must havebeen. Do you think I look like a Spanish dancer? Now, don't tell meyou've never seen one. Take your candle and go away. "

Helen obeyed and shut both doors quietly. She put the second candlebeside the first and studied her pale face. She was not beautiful, andRupert was absurd. She was colourless and rather dull, and to compareher with the radiant being in the other room was to hold a stablelantern to a star. 

She turned from her contemplation and, changing grey dress for greydressing-gown, she brushed her long, straight hair. Ten minutes latershe left the room and went about the house to see that all was ready forthe guest. 

She put coal on the fire in Christopher and left the door ajar so thatthe flames might cast warm light on the landing: she took a towel fromthe rail and changed it for another finer one; then she went quietlydown the stairs, with a smile for Mr. Pinderwell, and fancied she smeltthe spring through the open windows. The hall had a dimness which hidand revealed the rich mahogany of the clock and cupboard and the tablefrom which more primroses sent up a memory of moonlight and a fragrancewhich was no sooner seized than lost. She could hear Mrs. Samson in thekitchen as she watched over the turbot, and from the schoolroom therecame the scraping of a chair. John had dressed as quickly as herself. 

In the dining-room she found her stepmother standing by the fire. 

"Oh, you look sweet!" Helen exclaimed. "I love you in that dark blue. "

"I think I'll wait in the drawing-room, " Mildred Caniper said, and wentaway. 

Once more, Helen wandered to the doorway; she always sought the openwhen she was unhappy and, as she looked over the gathering darkness, shetried not to remember the tone of Notya's words. 

"It's like pushing me off a wall I'm trying to climb, " she thought, "butI mean to climb it. " And for the second time within an hour, she gavetongue to her sustaining maxim: "I must just go on. "

She hoped Uncle Alfred was not expectant of affection. 

Night was coming down. The road was hardly separable from the moor, andit was the Brent Farm dogs which warned her of the visitor's approach. Two yellow dots slowly swelled into carriage lamps, and the rolling ofwheels and the thud of hoofs were faintly heard. She went quickly to theschoolroom. 

"John, the trap's coming. "

"Well, what d'you want me to do about it? Stop it?"

"I wish you could. "

"Now, don't get fussy. "

"I'm not. "

"Not get fussy?"

"Not getting fussy. "

"That's better. If your grammar's all right the nerves must be inorder. "

"You're stupid, John. I only want some one to support me--on the step. "

"Need we stand there? Rupert's with him. Won't that do?"

"No, I think we ought to say how-d'you-do, here, and then pass him on toNotya in the drawing-room. "

"Very good. Stand firm. But they'll be hours rolling up the track. Whatthe devil do we want with an uncle? The last time we stood like this waswhen our revered father paid us a call. Five years ago--six?"

"Six. "

"H'm. If I ever have any children--Where's Miriam? I suppose she's goingto make a dramatic entry when she's sure she can't be missed. "

"I hope so, " Helen said. "The first sight of Miriam--"

"You're ridiculous. She's no more attractive than any other girl, andit's this admiration that's been her undoing. "

"Is she undone?"

"She's useless. "

"Like a flower. "

"No, she has a tongue. "

"Oh, John, you're getting bad-tempered. "

"I'm getting tired of this damned step. "

"You swear rather a lot, " she said mildly. "They're on the track. Oh, Rupert's talking. Isn't it a comfortable sound?"

A few minutes later, she held open the gate and, all unaware of thebeauty of her manners, she welcomed a small, neat man who wore aneyeglass. John took possession of him and led him into the hall andHelen waited for Rupert, who followed with the bag. She could see thathis eyebrows were lifted comically. 

"Well?" she asked. 

"Awful. I know he isn't dumb because I've heard him speak, nor deafbecause he noticed that the horse had a loose shoe, but that's all I cantell you, my dear. I talked--I had to talk. You can't sit in the darkfor miles with some one you don't know and say nothing, but I've beensweating blood. " He put the bag down and leaned against the gate. "Thatman, " he said emphatically, "is a mining engineer. He--oh, good-night, Gibbons--he's been all over the globe, so Notya tells us. You'd think hemight have picked up a little small talk as well as a fortune, but no. If he's picked it up, he's jolly careful with it. I tell you, I've madea fool of myself, and talked to a thing as unresponsive as a stonewall. "

"Perhaps you talked too much. "

"I know I did, but I've a hopeful disposition, and I've cured hard casesbefore now. Of course he must have been thinking me an insufferableidiot, but the darkness and his neighbourhood were too much for me. Andthat horse of Gibbons's! It's only fit for the knacker. Oh, Lord! Ibelieve I told him the population of the town. There's humiliation foryou! He grunted now and then. Well, I'll show the man I can keep quiettoo. We ought to have sent John to meet him. They'd have been happyenough together. "

"You know, " Helen said sympathetically, "I don't suppose he heard halfyou said or was thinking about you at all. "

Rupert laughed delightedly and put his arm through hers as he picked upthe bag. 

"Come in. No doubt you're right. "

"I believe he's really afraid of us, " she added. "I should be. "

As they entered the hall, they saw Miriam floating down the stairs. Onehand on the rail kept time with her descent; her black dress, of airymake, fluffed from stair to stair; the white neck holding her littlehead was as luminous as the pearls she wanted. She paused on one footwith the other pointed. 

"Where is he?" she whispered. 

"Just coming out of the drawing-room, " Rupert answered quickly, encouraging her. "Stay like that. Chin a little higher. Yes. You're likeBeatrix Esmond coming down the stairs. Excellent!"

A touch from Helen silenced him as Mildred Caniper and her brotherturned the corner of the passage. They both stood still at the sight ofthis dark-clad vision which rested immobile for an instant before itsmiled brilliantly and finished the flight. 

"This is Miriam, " Mildred Caniper said in hard tones. 

Miriam cast a quick, wavering glance at her and returned to meet thegaze of Uncle Alfred, who had not taken her hand. At last, seeing itoutstretched, he took it limply. 

"Ah--Miriam, " he said, with a queer kind of cough. 

"She's knocked him all of a heap, " Rupert told himself vulgarly as hecarried the bag upstairs, and once more he wished he knew what hismother had been like. 

CHAPTER VI

At supper, Uncle Alfred was monosyllabic, and the Canipers, realizingthat he was much shyer than themselves, became hospitable. Notya madethe droll remarks of which she was sometimes capable, and Miriam showedoff without fear of a rebuke. It was a comely party, and Mrs. Samsonbreathed her heavy pleasure in it as she removed the plates. When themeal was over and Uncle Alfred was smoking placidly in the drawing-room, Helen wandered out to the garden gate. There she found John biting anempty pipe. 

After their fashion, they kept silence for a time before Helen said, "Would it matter if I went for a walk?"

"I was thinking of having one myself. "

"He won't miss you and me, " she said. "May I come with you, or were yougoing to Brent Farm?"

"I'm not going there. Come on. "

The wind met them lightly as they headed towards the road. The night wasvery dark, and the ground seemed to lift itself before them and sinkagain at their approach. 

"It's like butting into a wave, " John said. "I keep shutting my eyes, ready for the shock. "

"Yes. " Helen began to talk as though she were alone. "The moor is alwayslike the sea, when it's green and when it's black. It moves, too, gently. And now the air feels like water, heavy and soft. And yet thewind's far more alive than water. I'd like to have a wind bath everyday. Oh, I'm glad we live here. "

She stumbled, and John caught her by the elbow. 

"Want a hand?"

"No, thank you. It's these slippers. "

"High heels?"

"No, a stone. I wonder if the fires are out. It's so long since lastnight. We'd better not go far, John. "

"We'll stop at Halkett's turning. "

They took the road, and their pace quickened to the drum beats of theirfeet. 

"It sounds like winter, " Helen said. 

"But it feels like spring. "

She thought she heard resentment for that season in his voice. "Well, why don't you go and tell her?"

"Oh, shut up! What's the use? I've no money. A nice suitor I'd make fora woman like that!"

Helen's voice sang above their footsteps and the swishing of her dress. "Silly, old-fashioned ideas you've got! They're rather insulting to her, I think. "

"Perhaps, if she cares; but if she doesn't--She'd send me off like astray dog. "

"That's pride. You shouldn't be proud in love. "

"You should be proud in everything, I believe. And what do you knowabout it?"

"Oh--I think. Can you hear a horse, a long way off? And of course I wantto be married, too, but Miriam is sure to be, and then Notya would beleft alone. Besides, I couldn't leave the moor, and there's no one butGeorge Halkett here!"

"H'm. You're not going to marry him. "

"No, I'm not--but I'm sorry for him. "

"You needn't be. He's no good. You must have nothing to do with him. AskLily Brent. He tried to kiss her once, the beast, but she nearly brokehis nose, and serve him right. "

"Oh? Did she mind?"

"Mind!"

"I don't think I should have. He looks clean, and if he really wanted tokiss me very badly, I expect I should let him. It's such a littlething. "

"Good heavens, girl!" He stopped in a stride and turned to her. "Thatkind of charity is very ill-advised. "

Her laughter floated over his head with the coolness of the wind. "Ihope I shan't have to give way to it. "

He continued to be serious. "Well, you're not ignorant. Rupert and Imade up our minds to that as soon as we knew anything ourselves; butwomen are such fools, such fools! Tender-hearted idiots!"

"Is that why you're afraid to go to Lily Brent?" she asked. 

"Ah, that's different, " he mumbled. "She's more like a man. "

Helen was smiling as they walked on. "If you could have Lily Brent andgive up your garden, or keep your garden and lose her--"

"I'm not going to talk about it, " he said. 

"I wanted to know how much love really matters. That horse is muchnearer now. We'll see the lights soon. And there's some one by theroadside, smoking. It's George. Good-evening, George. "

His deep voice rumbled through the darkness, exchanging salutations. "I'm waiting for the doctor. "

"Some one's coming now. "

"Yes, it's his old nag. That horse makes you believe in eternity, anyhow. "

She felt a sudden, painful anger. "He's a friend of mine--the horse, "and quietly, she repeated to herself, "The horse, " because he had noname by which she could endear him. 

"Is Mr. Halkett worse?" John asked, from the edge of the road. 

The red end of Halkett's cigar glowed and faded. "I'm anxious abouthim. "

The yellow lights of the approaching dog-cart swept the borders of themoor and Helen felt herself caught in the illumination. The horsestopped and she heard the doctor's clear-cut voice. 

"Is that you, Helen?"

"Yes. "

"Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm just here with John, " she said and went close to the cart. "AndGeorge is waiting for you. "

"He'd better hop up, then. " He bent towards her. "Did you find thefires?"

She nodded with the vehemence of her gladness that he should remember. "And, " she whispered hurriedly, "you were quite right about the doors. Uncle Alfred's going to be a friend. "

"That's good. Hullo, Halkett. Get up, will you, and we'll go on. Where'sJohn?"

"Sitting on the bank. "

The cart shook under Halkett's added weight, and as he took his seat hebulked enormous in the darkness. Dwarfed by that nearness, the doctorsat with his hat in one hand and gathered the reins up with the other. 

"No, just a minute!" Helen cried. "I want to stroke the horse. " Hervoice had laughter in it. 

"There's a patient waiting for me, you know. "

"Yes. There! It's done. Go on. Good-night. "

The cart took the corner in a blur of lamplight and shadow, tipped overa large stone and disappeared down the high-banked lane, leaving Helenwith an impressive, half-alarming memory of the two jolted figures, black, with white ovals for faces, side by side, and Zebedee's spareframe clearing itself, now and then, from the other's breadth. 

In the drawing-room, Uncle Alfred sat on one side of the hearth andMiriam on the other. The room was softly lighted by candles and thefire, and at the dimmer end Mr. Pinderwell's bride was smiling. Thesound of Mildred Caniper's needle, as she worked at an embroideryframe, was added to the noises of the fire and Uncle Alfred's regularpulling at his pipe. Rupert was proving his capacity for silence on thepiano stool. 

"And which country, " Miriam asked, leaning towards her uncle, "do youlike best?"

"Oh--well, I hardly know. "

"I never care for the sound of Africa--so hot. "

"Hottish, " conceded Uncle Alfred. 

"Oh, Lord!" Rupert groaned in spirit. 

"And South America, full of crocodiles, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"Haven't you been there?"

"Yes, yes--parts of it. "

"Miriam, " said Mildred Caniper, "Alfred is not a geography book. "

"But he ought to be, " she dared. 

"And, " the cool voice went on, "you never cared for geography, Iremember. "

Miriam sat back sullenly, stiffening until her prettily shod feetreached an inch further along the fender. Rupert would not relieve thesituation and the visitor smoked on, watching Miriam through his tobaccosmoke, until a knock came at the door. 

"I beg your pardon, M'm--"

"It's Mother Samson, " said Rupert. "Shall I look after her?"

"No. I will go. " The door closed quietly behind Mrs. Caniper. 

Uncle Alfred lowered his pipe. "You are extraordinarily like yourmother, " he said in quick and agitated tones, and the life of the roomwas changed amazingly. Rupert turned on his seat, and his elbow scrapedthe piano notes so that they jangled like a hundred questions. Miriamslipped out of her chair. 

"Am I?" she asked from her knees. "I knew I was. Tell me!"

He put his hand to his breast-pocket. "Ah, " he said, as a step soundedin the passage, "perhaps tomorrow--"

Miriam lifted the poker. "Because you mustn't poke the fire, UncleAlfred, " she was saying as Mildred Caniper came back. "You haven't knownus long enough. " She turned to her stepmother. "Did Mrs. Samson want hermoney? She's saving up. She's going to have a new dress this summerbecause she hasn't had one since she was married. "

"And if she hadn't married, " Rupert went on, feeling like a conspirator, "she would have had one every year. "

"That gives one something to think about--yes, " said Uncle Alfred, doinghis share. He was astonished at himself. He had spent the greater partof his life in avoiding relationships which might hamper him and alreadyhe was in league with these young people and finding pleasure in thesituation. 

Miriam was looking at him darkly, mischievously, from the hearthrug. "Tomorrow, " she said, resting on the word, "I'll take you for a walk tosee the sights. There are rabbits, sheep, new lambs, very white andlively, a hare if we're lucky, ponies, perhaps, if we go far enough. We've all these things on the moor. Oh, " her grimace missed foolishnessby the hair's breadth which fortune always meted to her, "it's awonderful place. Will you come with me?"

He nodded with a guilty quickness. "What are these ponies?"

"Little wild ones, with long tails. "

"I'm fond of horses, " he said and immediately looked ashamed of theconfession. "Ha, ha, 'um, " he half hummed, trying to cloakembarrassment. 

"I'm fond of all animals, " Miriam said with loud bitterness, "but we areonly allowed to have a cat. "

"Hens, " Rupert reminded her. 

"They're not animals; they're idiots. "

"Would you like to keep a cow in the garden?" Mildred Caniper enquiredin the pleasantly cold tones which left Miriam powerless. 

Uncle Alfred's tuneless humming began again. "Yes, fond of horses, " hesaid vaguely, his eyes quick on woman and girl. 

"And can you ride?" Miriam asked politely, implying that it was notnecessary for the whole family to be ill-mannered. 

"I've had to--yes, but I don't care about it. No, I like to look atthem. "

"We rode when we were children, " his sister said. 

"Hung on. "

"Well, yes. "

Miriam would not encourage these reminiscences, so belated on the partof her stepmother. "We have a neighbour who grows horses, " she said. "And he's a wonderful rider. Rupert, don't you think he'd like to showthem to Uncle Alfred? On Saturday afternoon, couldn't you take him tothe farm?"

"But I'm going on Saturday, " Uncle Alfred interposed. 

"Saturday! And today's Thursday! Oh!"

"At least I think so, " he said weakly. 

Secretly she shook her head at him. "No, no, " she signed, and saidaloud, "A Sunday in the country--"

"No place of worship within four miles, " Rupert announced. 

"Ah, " Uncle Alfred said with a gleam of humour, "that's distinctlycheering. "

Miriam beat her hands together softly. "And yet, " she said, "I'vesometimes been to church for a diversion. Have you?"

"Never, " he answered firmly. 

"I counted the bald heads, " she said mournfully, "but they didn't lastout. " She looked up and saw that Uncle Alfred was laughing silently: sheglanced over her shoulder and saw Mildred Caniper's lips compressed, andshe had a double triumph. This was the moment when it would be wise forher to go to bed. Like a dark flower, lifting itself to the sun, sherose from her knees in a single, steady movement. 

"Good-night, " she said with a little air. "And we'll have our walktomorrow?"

He was at the door, holding it open. "Yes, but--in the afternoon, if wemay. I am not an early riser, and I don't feel very lively in themornings. "

"Ah, " she thought as she went upstairs, "he wouldn't have said that tomy mother. He's getting old: but never mind, I'm like a lady in aromance! I believe he loved my mother and I'll make him love me. "

CHAPTER VII

She was not allowed time for that achievement. On the morning of the daywhich was to have been productive of so much happiness, the postmanbrought a letter with a foreign stamp, and Miriam took it to the kitchenwhere her stepmother and Helen were discussing meals. 

"A letter, " Miriam said flippantly, "from Italy. "

"Thank you, Miriam. Put it on the table. " The faint colour our deepenedon her cheeks. "I'm afraid one of you will have to go into the townagain. I forgot to ask Rupert to order the meat. Miriam--"

"No, I can't go. I'm engaged to Uncle Alfred. "

"I think we might easily persuade him to excuse you. He really dislikeswalking, though he would not say so. "

"Or, " Helen said with tact, "we could get chickens from Lily Brent. Wouldn't that be better?"

"Very well. Now, about sweets. "

"This letter, " Miriam said, bending over it and growing bold in theknowledge that Uncle Alfred was not far off, "this letter looks as if itwants to be opened. All the way from Italy, " she mumbled so that MildredCaniper could not distinguish the words, "and neglected when it getshere. If he took the trouble to write to me, I wouldn't treat him likethat. Poor letter! Poor Mr. Caniper! No wonder he went away to Italy. "She stood up. "His writing is very straggly, " she said clearly. 

Mildred Caniper put out a hand which Miriam pretended not to see. 

"Shall I order the chickens?" she asked; but no one answered, for herstepmother was reading the letter, and Helen preserved silence as thoughshe were in a church. With care that the dishes should not clickagainst each other, she put the newly washed china on the dresser andlaid the silver in its place, and now and then she glanced at Notya, whostood beside the table. It was some time before she folded the letterwith a crackle and looked up. Her eyes wandered from Helen to Miriam, and rested there with an unconsciousness so rare as to be startling. 

"Philip is ill, " she said in a voice carried by her thoughts to a greatdistance. She corrected herself. "Your father is ill. " She picked up theenvelope and looked at it. "That's why his writing is so--straggly. " Sheseemed to be thinking not only of Philip Caniper, but of many thingsbesides, so that her words, like her thoughts, came through obstacles. 

Intensely interested in a Notya moved to some sign of an emotion whichwas not annoyance, Miriam stood in the doorway and took care to make nomovement which might betray her; but Helen stared at the fire andsuffered the pain she had always felt for her stepmother's distresses. 

"However--" Mildred Caniper said at last, and set briskly to work, whileMiriam disappeared into the shadows of the hall and Helen watched theflames playing round the kettle in which the water for Uncle Alfred'sbreakfast was bubbling. 

"How ill is he?" she asked. 

"Are you speaking of your father?"

"Yes--please. "

"I wish you would use names instead of pronouns. A good deal worse, I amafraid. "

"And there's nobody to look after him--our father?"

"Certainly there is. "

"Oh! I'm glad, " Helen said, looking candidly at Notya. "We can't pretendto care about him--can we? But I don't like to have a father who isill. "

"If he had known that--" the other began, and stopped the foolish littlesarcasm in time. "It is no use discussing things, Helen. We have to dothem. "

"Well, let us go to Italy, " Helen said. 

Mildred Caniper did not conceal her surprise. Her lips dropped apart, and she stood, balancing in a spoon the egg she was about to boil forUncle Alfred, and gazed at Helen, before she recovered herself and saideasily, "You are rather absurd, Helen, aren't you?"

But Helen knew that she was not. "I thought that was just what you werewanting to do, " she answered. 

The egg went into the saucepan and was followed by another. 

"We can't, " Mildred Caniper said with the admonishing air which sat likean imposition on her; "we cannot always do as we wish. "

"Oh, I know that, " Helen said. She put on a pair of gloves, armedherself with brooms and dusters, and left the room. 

It seemed to her that people wilfully complicated life. She put a justvalue on the restraint which had been a great part of her training, buta pretence which had the transparency of its weakness moved her to apatient kind of scorn, and in that moment she had a flash of insightwhich showed her that she had sometimes failed to understand herstepmother because she had not suspected the variability of the elderwoman's character. Mildred Caniper produced an impression of strength inwhich she herself did not believe; she had imprisoned her impulses incoldness, and they only escaped in the sharp utterances of her tongue;she was uncertain of her power, and she insisted on its acceptance. 

"And she's miserable, miserable, " Helen's heart cried out, and shelaughed unhappily herself. "And Miriam's afraid of her! There's nothingto be afraid of. She knows that, and she's afraid we'll find it out allthe time. And it might all have been so simple and so--so smooth. "

Helen was considered by the other Canipers and herself as the dullest ofthe family, and this morning she swept, dusted and polished in the oldignorance of her acuteness, nor would the knowledge of it have consoledher. She was puzzling over the cause which kept the man in Italy apartfrom the woman here, and when she gave that up in weariness, she triedto picture him in a white house beside an eternally blue sea. Thewindows of the house had jalousies of a purplish red, there werepalm-trees in the sloping garden and, at the foot of it, waves rocked ashallow, tethered boat. And her father was in bed, no doubt; the flushredder on his thin cheeks, his pointed black beard jerked over thesheet. She had seen him lying so on his last visit to the moor, and shehad an important little feeling of triumph in the memory of thatfamiliarity. She was not sentimental about this distant parent, for hewas less real than old Halkett, far less real than Mr. Pinderwell; yetit seemed cruel that he should lie in that warm southern country withouta wife or daughter to care for him. 

"Helen, " Miriam said from Phoebe's door, "do you think he is going todie?"

"How can I tell?"

"And you don't care?"

"Not much, of course, but I'm sorry for him. "

"Sweet thing! And if he dies, shall we wear black?"

Helen's pale lips condescended to a rather mocking smile. "I see youmean to. "

"Well, if you can do the proper thing and look nice at the same time--"She broke off and fidgeted. "I don't mind his dying if he does it faraway, but, oh, wouldn't it be horrible if he did it here? Ill peoplemake me sick. "

"Why don't you go and do something yourself? Go and amuse Uncle Alfred. "

"No, he's not nice in the mornings. He said so, and I've peeped at him. Liverish. "

"Order the chickens, then, but ask Notya first. "

"Where is she?"

Together they peeped over the banisters and listened. 

"You'd better ask, " Miriam said. "I wonder where she is. Call her, " sheadded, daring Helen to break one of the rules of that quiet house; andHelen, who had discovered the truth that day, lifted her voice clearly. 

"If she's not cross, " Miriam whispered, "we'll know she's worried. "

"Oh, " Helen said soberly, "how horrid of us! I wish I hadn't. "

Miriam's elbow was in her side. "Here she comes, look!"

They could see the crown of Mildred Caniper's fair head, the white blotof her clasped hands. 

"What is it?" she asked quietly, turning up her face. 

"Shall Miriam order the chickens?" Helen called down. 

"Oh, yes--yes, " she answered, and went away. 

"Ha, ha! Quite successful! Any special kind of chicken? Black legs?Yellow legs?"

"She'll give you the best she has, " Helen said. 

Miriam popped her head round the door of the dining-room where UncleAlfred was smoking, waved her hand, and spared him the necessity ofspeech by running from the house. The sun shone in a callous sky and thewind bit at her playfully as she went down the track, to remind herthat though she wore neither hat nor coat, summer was still weeks away. Miriam faced all the seasons now with equanimity, for Uncle Alfred wasin the dining-room, and she intended that her future should be bound upwith his. Gaily she mounted the Brent Farm road, with a word for amelancholy calf which had lost its way, and a feeling of affection forall she saw and soon meant to leave. She liked the long front of thefarmhouse with its windows latticed into diamonds, the porch sentinelledby large white stones, the path outlined with smaller ones and the greengate with its two steps into the field. 

The dairy door stood open, and Miriam found both Lily Brent and Johnwithin. They stood with the whole space of the floor between them andthere was a certain likeness in their attitudes. Each leaned against thestone shelf which jutted, waist high, from the wall, but neither tooksupport from it. Her brown eyes were level with his grey ones; her handswere on her hips, while his arms were folded across his breast. 

"Hullo, Napoleon!" Miriam said. "Good-morning, Lily. Is he beingtiresome? He looks it. "

"We're only arguing, " she said. "We often do it. "

This was the little girl whom Mrs. Brent, now in her ample grave, hadslapped and kissed and teased, to the edification of the Canipers. Shehad grown tall and very straight; her thick dark hair was twistedtightly round her head; her skirt was short, revealing firm ankles andwooden shoes, and she wore a jersey which fitted her body closely andleft her brown neck bare. Her watchful eyes were like those of some shyanimal, but her lips had the faculty of repose. Helen had once comparedher to a mettlesome young horse and there was about her some quality ofthe male. She might have been a youth scorning passion because shefeared it. 

"If it's a very important argument, " said Miriam, "I'll retire. There'sa sad baby calf down by your gate. I could go and talk to him. "

"Silly little beast!" Lily said; "he's always making a fuss. Listen tothis, Miriam. John wants to pay me for letting him work a strip of myland that's been lying idle all these years. "

"If you won't let me pay rent--"

"He hasn't any money, Lily. "

"I can try to pay you by helping on the farm. You can lie in bed and letme do your share of milking. "

"He'll do no harm, " Miriam asserted. 

"I know that. He's been doing odd jobs for us ever since we begancarrying his vegetables to town. He likes to pay for all he gets. You'remean-spirited, John. "

"All right. I'll be mean-spirited, and I'll be here for this evening'smilking. "

"That's settled, then, " she said, with a great semblance of relief. 

"And Mrs. Caniper of Pinderwell House will be very much obliged ifyou'll let her have two chickens as soon as possible. "

"Certainly, miss. I'll go and see about them. "

Miriam let out a little scream and put her hands to her ears. 

"No, no, don't kill them yet! Not till you're quite sure that I'm safelyon the other side of the road. John, stop her!"

"You're a little goose, " Lily said. "They're lying quite comfortablydead in the larder. "

"Oh, thank Heaven! Shall I tell you a horrible secret of my past life?Once when I was very small, I crept through Halkett's larch-wood just tosee what was happening down there, because Mrs. Samson had been hintingthings, and what I saw--oh, what do you think I saw?" She shudderedand, covering her face, she let one bright eye peep round the protectinghand. "I saw that idiot boy wringing a hen's neck! And now, " she ended, "I simply can't eat chicken. "

"Dear, dear!" John said, and clucked his tongue. "Dreadful confession ofa young girl!"

Lily Brent was laughing. "And to think I've wrung their necks myself!"

"Have you? Ugh! Nasty!"

"It is, but some one had to do it. "

"Don't do it again, " said John quickly. 

She raised her eyebrows, met his glance, and looked away. 

"I can't get on with my work while you two are gossiping here. "

"Come home, John. Father's iller. Notya's too much worried to be cross. She had a letter--Aren't you interested?"

He was thinking, "I'll start breaking up that ground tomorrow, " andbehind that conscious thought there was another: "I shall be able towatch her going in and out. "

"John--"

"No, I'm not interested. Go home and look after your uncle. I've a lotto think about. "

She left him sitting on a fence and staring creatively at his knees. 

CHAPTER VIII

Helen met Miriam in the hall. 

"There's been a telegram and Notya's going to Italy. "

"Ah!" Miriam said, but her bright looks faded when Helen added, "WithUncle Alfred. "

Miriam dropped her head and thrust her doubled fists under her chin, inthe angry movement of her childhood. "Oh, isn't that just my luck!" shemuttered fiercely. "I--I hadn't done with Uncle Alfred. "

"Perhaps father hasn't done with life, " Helen remarked. 

"Oh, don't be pious! Don't be pious! You're always adorning tales. You're a prig!"

"Well, I haven't time to think about that now, " Helen said with theexcellent humour which made amends for her many virtues. "I'm helpingNotya to pack and I want you to ask George Halkett if he will drive herdown. The train goes at a quarter to three. "

"I'm sorry, " Miriam said, looking like the heroine in a play, "but Ican't go there. I--don't approve of George. "

"Oh!" Helen cried, screwing up her face. "Has John been telling youabout Lily Brent?"

"No. What? Tell me!" Miriam answered with complete forgetfulness of herpose. 

"Some nonsense. George tried to kiss her. "

"Did he?" There was a flat tone in Miriam's voice. 

"And she hit him, and now John thinks he's wicked. "

"So he is. " She was hardly aware of what she said, for she washesitating between the immediate establishment of her supremacy and thepunishment of George, and having decided that his punishment shouldinclude sufficient tribute, she said firmly, "I won't have anything todo with him. "

"Then I'll go. Help Notya if you can. "

Miriam took a step nearer. "What is she like?"

"Oh--queer. "

"Then perhaps I'd rather go to George, " she whispered. 

"I'm halfway there already, " Helen said from the door. 

She slipped across the moor with the speed which came so easily to her, and her breathing had hardly quickened when she issued from thelarch-wood and stood on the cobble-stones before the low white house. Already the leaves of a rose-tree by the door were budding, for in thatsheltered place the sun was gathered warmly. So, too, she thought, darkness would lie closely there and rain would shoot down in thicksplinters with intent to hurt. She was oppressed by a sense ofconcentration in this tree-lined hollow, and before she stepped acrossthe yard she lifted and shook her shoulders to free them of the weight. She remembered one summer day when the air had been clogged by the scentof marigolds, but this was not their season, and the smell of thelarches came healthfully on the winds that struggled through the trees. 

She had raised her hand to knock on the open door when she heard a step, and turned to see George Halkett. 

"George, " she said without preamble, "I've come to ask you to dosomething for us. Our stepmother has unexpectedly to catch a train. Could you, would you, drive her down--and a box, and our uncle, and hisbag?"

She found, to her surprise, that John's story had given George a newplace in her mind. She had been accustomed to see him as a mere part ofthe farm which bore his name, and now she looked at him with a differentcuriosity. She imagined him bending over Lily Brent and, with a strongdistaste, she pictured him starting back at her assault. It seemed toher, she could not tell why, that no woman should raise her hand againsta man, and that this restraint was less for her dignity than for his. 

"I'll do it with pleasure, " George was saying. 

"Thank you very much, " she murmured, and named the time. "Is Mr. Halkettbetter?"

"I'm afraid he's never going to get better, Miss Helen, " he said, usingthe title he had given her long ago because of a childish dignity whichamused him. 

"I'm sorry, " she said, and wondered if she spoke the truth. 

Her gaze, very wide and serious, affected his, and as they looked ateach other she realized that, with those half-closed eyes of his, he wasconsidering her as he had never done before. She became conscious of herphysical self at once, and this was an experience strange to her; sheremembered the gown she wore, the fashion of her hair, her greystockings and worn, low shoes; slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shifteda foot which was twisted inwards, and having done this, she found thatshe did not like George's appraisement. With a broken word of farewelland thanks she quickly left him. 

"I didn't like that, " she said emphatically to the broad freedom of themoor. George's interest was like the hollow: it hemmed her in and madeher hot, but here the wide winds swept over her with a cleansing cold. Nevertheless, when she went to Notya's room, she took the opportunity ofscanning herself in the glass. 

"You have been running, " Mildred Caniper said. 

"No, not lately. "

"You are very pink. "

"Yes. "

Mildred Caniper's tone changed suddenly. "And I don't know where youhave been. I wish you would not run off without warning. And I could notfind Miriam anywhere. " From anger she sank back to helplessness. "Idon't know what to take, " she said, and her hands jerked on her lap. 

"Let's see, " Helen said cheerfully. "Warm things for the journey, andcooler things for when you get there. " She made no show of consultingNotya and, moving with leisurely competence from wardrobe to chest ofdrawers, she laid little heaps of clothing on the bed. 

"Handkerchiefs: one, two, three, four--"

"I shan't need many. "

"But you'd better take a lot. "

"I shall soon come back. "

"Five, six, seven, " Helen counted on, and her whispers sounded loudly inthe room where Mildred Caniper's thoughts were busy. 

"You haven't a very warm coat, so you must take mine, " Helen said, andwhen she looked up she discovered in her stepmother the extraordinarystillness of a being whose soul has gone on a long journey. Her voicecame, as before, from that great distance, yet with surprisingclearness, as though she spoke through some instrument which reduced thevolume and accentuated the peculiarities of her tones. 

"One ought never to be afraid of anything, " the small voicesaid--"never. " Her lips tightened, and slowly she seemed to return tothe body which sat on the sofa by the window. "I don't know what totake, " she said again. 

"I'm doing it, " Helen told her. "You mustn't lose the train. "

"No. " She stood up, and, going to the dressing-table, she leaned on itas though she searched intently for something lying there. "I expect hewill be dead, " she said. "It's a long way. All those frontiers--"

Helen looked at the bent back, and her pity shaped itself in eagerwords. "Shall I come with you? Let me! I can get ready--"

Mildred Caniper straightened herself and turned, and Helen recognizedthe blue light in her eye. 

"Your presence, Helen, " she said distinctly, "will not reduce the numberof the frontiers. " Her manner blamed Helen for her own lack ofself-control; but to this her stepchildren were accustomed, and Helenfelt no anger. 

"Oh, no, " she answered pleasantly; "it would not do that. "

She packed on methodically, and while she feigned absorption in thatbusiness her thoughts were swift and troubled, as they were when she wasa little girl and, suffering for Notya's sake, wept in the heather. Itwas impossible to help this woman whose curling hair mocked hersternness, whose sternness so easily collapsed and as easily recoveredat a word; it was, perhaps, intrusive to attempt it, yet the desire wasas quick as Helen's blood. 

"You are much too helpful, Helen, " Mildred Caniper went on, and softenedthat harshness quickly. "You must learn that no one can help anybodyelse. " She smiled. "You must deny yourself the luxury of trying!"

"I shall remember, " Helen said with her quiet acquiescence, "but I mustgo now and see about your lunch. Would you mind writing the labels?Uncle Alfred will want one for his bag. Oh, I know I'm irritating, " sheadded on a wave of feeling which had to break, "but I can't help it. I--I'm like that. " She reflected with humiliation that it was absurd toobtrude herself thus on a scene shadowed by tragedy, yet when she saw aglint of real amusement on Mildred Caniper's face, a new thought came toher. Perhaps reserve was not so great a virtue as she had believed. Shemust not forget; nor must she forget that Miriam considered her a prig, that Mildred Caniper found her too helpful. She pressed her handsagainst her forehead and concentrated her energies on the travellers'food. 

The minutes, busy as they were, dragged by like hours. Uncle Alfred atehis luncheon with the deliberation of a man who cannot expect to renewhis digestive apparatus, and the road remained empty of George Halkettand his trap. Mildred Caniper, calm now, and dressed for her journey, had many instructions for Helen concerning food, the employment of Mrs. Samson, bills to be paid, and other domestic details which at thismoment lacked reality. 

"And, " she ended, "tell Rupert not to be late. The house should belocked up at ten o'clock. "

"Yes, " Helen answered, but when she looked at her stepmother she couldsee only the distressed figure which had sat on the sofa, with handsjerking on its knee. Did she love Philip Caniper? Had they quarrelledlong ago, and did she now want to make amends? No, no! She shut hereyes. She must not pry. She felt as though she had caught herselfreading a letter which belonged to some one else. 

Not deterred by such squeamishness, Miriam watched the luncheon-partywith an almost indecent eagerness. Her curiosity about Mildred Caniperwas blurred by pleasure in her departure, and each mouthful unwillinglytaken by that lady seemed to minister to Miriam's freedom. Now and thenshe went to the garden gate to look for George, yet with her hurry todrive out her stepmother there was that luckless necessity to let UncleAlfred go. On him her dark gaze was fastened expectantly. Surely he hadsomething to say to her; doubtless he waited for a fitting opportunity, and she was determined that he should have it, but she realized that hewas past the age when he would leap from an unfinished meal to whisperwith her. This put a disturbing limit to her power, and with aninstinct for preserving her faith in herself she slightly shifted theview from which she looked at him. So she was reassured, and she waitedlike an affectionate grand-daughter in the dark corner of the passagewhere his coat and hat were hanging. 

"Let me help you on, " she said. 

"Thank you. Thank you. This is a sad business. "

She handed him his hat. She found that, after all, she could saynothing, and though hope was dying in her, she made no effort to reviveit. 

"Well--good-bye, " Uncle Alfred was saying, and holding out his hand. 

She gave hers limply. "Good-bye. " She hardly looked at him. UncleAlfred, who had loved her mother, was going without so much as acheering word. He looked old and rather dull as he went on with hisprecise small steps into the hall and she walked listlessly behind him. 

"He's like a little performing animal, " she thought. 

Fumbling in his breast pocket, he turned to her. "If you should needme, " he said, and produced his card. "I'll write and tell you whathappens--er--when we get there. "

She thanked and passed him coldly, for she felt that he had broken faithwith her. 

Outside the gate George Halkett sat in his high dog-cart and idly laidthe whip across the horse's back. John stood and talked to him with thecourtesy exacted by the circumstances, but George's eye caught thesunlight on Miriam's hair, and sullenly he bowed to her. She smiledback, putting the venom and swiftness of her emotion into that salute. She watched until his head slowly turned towards her again, and then ithappened that she was looking far beyond the chimneys of Brent Farm. 

"Now he's angry, " she told herself, and pleasure went like a creepingthing down her back. She could see by the stubborn set of his head thathe would not risk another glance. 

Behind her, on the step, Notya was still talking to Helen. 

Uncle Alfred stopped swinging his eyeglass and clicked the gold case ofhis watch. "We must be going, " he said, and Miriam's heart cried out, "Yes; go, go, go!"

Lightly and strangely, Mildred Caniper kissed the cheeks of Miriam andHelen and shook John's hand, before she took her place beside GeorgeHalkett, with a word of thanks. Uncle Alfred stiffly climbed to hisperch at the back, and, incommoded by his sister's box, he sat there, clasping the handrail. A few shufflings of his feet and rearrangementsof his body told of his discomfort, and on his face there was theknowledge that this was but the prelude to worse things. Mildred Caniperdid not look back nor wave a hand, but Uncle Alfred's unfortunateposition necessitated a direct view of his young relatives. Three timeshe lifted his hat, and at last the cart swung into the road and he needlook no more. 

Miriam fanned herself with her little apron. "Now, how long can we counton in the most unfavourable circumstances?" she asked, but, to herastonishment, the others walked off without a word. She set her teeth inher under-lip and stared through tears at the lessening cart. She beganto sing so that she might keep down the sobs that hurt her throat, andthe words told of her satisfaction that Uncle Alfred was percheduncomfortably on the back seat of the cart. 

"And I wish he would fall off, " she sang. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear!"

CHAPTER IX

The three did not meet again until the sun had set and the brilliant skyhad taken on the pale, cold colour in which, like a reluctant bride, itwaited for the night. Then John put away his tools and Miriam began tostir about the house which was alive with a secret life of stone andwoodwork, of footsteps silenced long ago, and thoughts which refused todie: then, too, Helen came back from the moor where she had gone forcomfort. Her feet were wet, her hair was for once in disarray, but hereyes shone with a faith restored. Warring in her always were twobeliefs, one bright with the beauty and serenity which were her idea ofgood, the other dark with the necessity of sacrifice and propitiation. She had not the freedom of her youth, and she saw each good day as athing to be accepted humbly and ultimately to be paid for, yet she wouldshow no sign of fear. She had to go on steadily under the banner of atranquil face, and now the moor and the winds that played on it had madethat going easier. 

She passed through the darkening garden, glanced at the poplars, whichlooked like brooms sweeping away the early stars, and entered the houseby the kitchen door. John and Miriam sat by a leaping fire, but the roomwas littered with unwashed dishes and the remains of meals. 

"Well, " Miriam said in answer to Helen's swift glance and the immediateupturning of her sleeves, "why should I do it all? Look at her, John, trying to shame me. "

"I'm not. I just can't bear it. "

"Have some tea first, " John said. 

"Let me pile up the plates. "

"Have some tea, " Miriam echoed, "and I'll make toast; but you shouldn'thave gone away without telling me. I didn't know where you were, and thehouse was full of emptiness. "

"I found her snivelling about you, " John said. "She wanted me to go outand look for you with a lantern! After a day's work!"

"Things, " Miriam murmured, "might have got hold of her. "

"I shouldn't have minded moor things. Oh, these stained knives! John, did she really cry?"

"Nearly, I did. "

"Not she!"

"I did, Helen. I thought the dark would come, and you'd be lost perhaps, out on the moor--O-oh!"

"I think I'd like it--wrapped up in the night. "

"But the noises would send you mad. Your eyes are all red. Have you beencrying too?"

"It's the wind. Here's the rain coming. And where's my hair?" Shesmoothed it back and took off her muddy shoes before she sat down in thearmchair and looked about her. "Isn't it as if somebody were dead?" sheasked. "There are more shadows. "

"I'll turn up the lamp, " John said. 

The tinkle of Helen's cup and saucer had the clearness of a bell in thequiet room, and she moved more stealthily. Miriam paused as she spreadbutter on the toast. 

"This house is full of dead people, " she whispered. "If you begin tothink about them--John, you're not going, are you?"

"Only to draw the curtains. Yes, here's the rain. "

"And soon Notya will be on the sea, " Helen said, listening to the soundsof storm. 

"And I hope, " Miriam added on a rich burst of laughter, "that UncleAlfred will be sea-sick. Oh, wouldn't he look queer!" She flourished theknife. "Can't we be merry when we have the chance? Now that she's gone, why should the house still feel full of her? It isn't fair!"

"You're dripping butter on the floor, " Helen said. 

"Make your old toast yourself, then!"

"It's not only Notya, " Helen went on, as she picked up the knife. "It'sthe Pinderwells and their thoughts, and the people who lived here beforethem. Their thoughts are in the walls and they come out when the houseis quiet. "

"Then let us make a noise!" Miriam cried. "Tomorrow's Saturday, andDaniel will come up. Shall we ask him to stay? It would make more livepeople in the house. "

"If he stays, I'm not going to have Rupert in my room again. He talks inhis sleep. "

"It's better than snoring, " Helen said. 

"Awful to marry a man who snores, " Miriam remarked. "Uncle Alfred does. I heard him. "

"You're not thinking of marrying him?" John asked. 

"No. I don't like the little man, " she said incisively. "He gave me hiscard as though he'd met me in a train. In case we needed him! I'vethrown it into Mrs. Pinderwell's desk. " She looked frowningly at thefire. "But he liked me, " she said, throwing up her head and defying thesilent criticism of the company. "Yes, he did, but I hadn't enoughtime. "

"That's better than too much, " Helen said shrewdly, and stretched herstockinged feet to the bars. "Thank you for the tea, and now let us washup. "

"You're scorching, " Miriam said, and no one moved. The lamplight haddriven the shadows further back, and the room was the more peaceful forthe cry of the wind and the hissing of the rain. 

"Rupert will get wet, " Helen said. 

"Poor lad!" John mocked drowsily over his pipe. 

"And he doesn't know about our father, " Miriam said from her littlestool. "Our father, who may be in Heaven. "

"That's where Notya is afraid he is, " Helen sighed remembering herstepmother's lonely figure on the sofa backed by the bare window and thegreat moor. 

"Does she hate him as much as that?"

"Oh, I hate jokes about Heaven and Hell. They're so obvious, " Helensaid. 

"If they weren't, you wouldn't see them, my dear. "

Helen let that pass, but trouble looked from her eyes and sounded in hervoice. "She wanted to see him and she was afraid, and no one should everbe afraid. It's ugly. "

"Perhaps, " Miriam said hopefully, "he will be ill for a very long time, and then she'll have to stay with him, and we can have fun. Fun! Wherecan we get it? What right had she to bring us here?"

"For God's sake, " John said, "don't begin that again. We're warm and fedand roofed, and it's raining outside, and we needn't stir. That ought tomake you thankful for your mercies. Suppose you were a tramp. "

"Yes, suppose I was a tramp. " She clasped her knees and forgot her angerin this make-believe. "A young tramp. Just like me, but ragged. "

"Cold and wet. "

"My hair would still be curly and my face would be very brown. "

"You'd be dirty, " Helen reminded her, "and your boots would be crumpledand too big and sodden. " She looked at her own slim feet. "That is whatI should hate. "

"Of course there'd be disadvantages, but if I were a tramp and dwelt onmy mercies, what would they be? First--freedom!"

"Ha!" John snorted. 

"Well?"

"Freedom! Where is it?"

"With the lady tramp. "

"And what is it?"

"Being able to do what you like, " Miriam said promptly, "and having noNotya. "

John was trying to look patient. "Very well. Let us consider that. "

"Yes, grandpapa, " Miriam answered meekly, and tweaked Helen's toe. 

"You think the tramp can do what she likes, but she has no money in herpocket, so she can't buy the comfortable bed and the good meal she islonging for. She can only go to the first workhouse or sell herself forthe price of a glass of gin. "

"A pretty tramp like me, " Miriam began, and stopped at Helen's pleading. "But John and I are facing facts, so you must not be squeamish. When youcome to think of it, " she went on, "lady tramps generally have gentlementramps with them. "

"And there's your Notya. "

"Ah!"

"And he'd beat you. "

"I might like it. "

"And he'd be foul-mouthed. "

"Horrid!" Helen exclaimed. 

"But I should be used to nothing else. "

"And if you came down our high road one day and begged at our door, andsaw some one like yourself, some one clean and fresh and innocent--"

"So that's what he thinks of me!"

"Hush! I like this, " Helen said. 

"Even if there were a stern stepmother in the background, you'd beenvious of that girl. You might obey no laws, but you'd find yourselfthe slave of something, your own vice, perhaps, or folly, or the will ofthat gentleman tramp of yours. " He ended with a sharp tap of hisemptied pipe, and sank back in a thoughtful silence. 

Helen's hands slid down her stockings from knee to ankle and back again:her eyes were on the fire, but they saw the wet high road and the raggedwoman with skirt flapping against shapeless boots. The storm's voicerose and fell, and sometimes nothing could be heard but the howling ofthe wind, and she knew that the poplars were bent under it; but when itrested for a moment the steady falling of the rain had a kind ofreassurance. In the room, there were small sounds of shifting coals andbreathing people. 

Miriam sat on her stool like a bird on a branch. Her head was on oneside, the tilted eyebrows gave her face an enquiring look, and shesmiled with a light mischief. "You ought to have been a preacher, Johndear, " she said. "And you took--they always do--rather an unfair case. "

"Take any case you like, you can't get freedom. When you're older youwon't want it. "

"You're very young, John, to have found that out, " Helen said. 

"But you know it. "

Miriam clapped her hands in warning. "Don't say, " she begged, "that it'sbecause you are a woman!"

"Is that the reason?" Helen asked. 

"No, it's because you are a Helen, a silly, a slave! And John makeshimself believe it because he's in love with a woman who is going tomanage him. Clever me!"

Colour was in John's cheeks. "Clever enough, " he said, "but an awfullittle fool. Let's do something. "

"When I have been sitting still for a long time, " Helen said, as thoughshe produced wisdom, "I'm afraid to move in case something springs onme. I get stiff-necked. I feel--I feel that we're lost children with noone to take care of us. "

"I'm rather glad I'm not that tramp, " Miriam owned, and shivered. 

"And I do wish Notya were safe at home. "

"I don't, " said Miriam stubbornly. 

The wind whistled with a shrill note like a call, and upstairs a doorbanged loudly. 

"Which room?" Miriam whispered. 

"Hers, I think. We left the windows open, " John said in a sensible loudvoice. "I'll go and shut them. "

"Don't go. I won't be left here!" Miriam cried. "This house--this houseis too big. "

"It's because she isn't here, " Helen said. 

"John, you're the oldest. Make us happy. "

"But I'm feeling scared myself, " he said comically. "And the frontdoor's wide open, I'll bet. "

"And that swearing tramp could walk in if he liked!"

"But we mustn't be afraid of open doors, " Helen said, and listened toher own words for a moment. Then she smiled, remembering where she hadheard them. "We're frightening each other, and we must wash up. Look atthe muddle!"

"It will make a clatter, " Miriam objected, "and if you hadn't gone forthat walk and made the house feel lonely, I shouldn't be like this now. Something's peeping at me!"

"It's only Mr. Pinderwell, " Helen said. "Come and dry. "

"I shall sleep in your bed tonight. "

"Then I shall sleep in yours. "

"I wish Rupert would come. "

"John, do go and shut the windows. "

"But take a light. "

"It would be blown out. "

Helen lowered the mop she had been wielding. "And Notya--where is she?"

John lifted his shoulders and opened the door. A gust of wind came downthe passage, the front door was loudly shut, and Rupert whistledclearly. 

"Oh, here he is, " Miriam said on a deep breath, and went to meet him. 

John pointed towards the hall. "I don't know why he should make us allfeel brave. "

"There's something--beautiful about him, " Helen said. 

CHAPTER X

Helen was ironing in the kitchen the next afternoon when DanielMackenzie appeared in the doorway. She turned to him with a welcome, butthe perfection of her manner was lost on Daniel: for the kitchen wasempty of Miriam, and that was all he noticed. 

"Hasn't Rupert come with you?" Helen asked. 

"I missed him, " he said in his melancholy voice. "Perhaps he missed me, "he added with resignation. He was a tall young man with large hands andfeet, and his eyes were vague behind his spectacles. "I thought he wouldbe here. Is everybody out?"

"Notya's away, you know. "

"He told me. "

"And John and Miriam--I don't know where they are. "

He found it difficult to talk to Helen, and as he sat down in thearmchair he searched his mind for a remark. "I thought people alwaysironed on Tuesdays, " he said at last. 

"Some people do. These are just odd things. "

"Eliza does. She makes us have cold supper. And on Mondays. It's toobad. "

"But there can't be much to do for you. "

"I don't know. There's washing on Monday, and on Sunday she goes tochurch--so she says. "

Helen changed her iron and worked on. She moved rhythmically and herbare forearms were small and shapely, but Daniel did not look at her. Heseemed to be interested in the wrinkled boots he wore, and occasionallyhe uttered a sad; "Puss, Puss, " to the cat sleeping before the fire. Alight breeze was blowing outside and Helen sometimes paused to lookthrough the open window. 

"Our poplars are getting their leaves, " she said. "It's strange that Ihave never seen your garden. Are there any trees in it?"

He sat like a half-empty sack of grain, and slowly, with an effort, heraised his head. "What did you say?"

"Have you any trees in your garden?"

"There's a holly bush in the front and one of those thin trees that haveberries--red berries. "

"A rowan! Oh, I'm glad you have a rowan!" She looked as though he hadmade a gift to her. 

He was born to ask questions. "Why?" he said, with his first gleam ofinterest. 

"Oh, I like them. Is there a garden at the back?"

"Apple-trees, " he sighed. "No fruit. "

"They must want pruning. You know, gardening would do you good. "

He shook his head. "Too long in the back. "

"And Zebedee hasn't time?"

"No, he hasn't time. " Daniel was wondering where Miriam was, and howlong Rupert would be, and though Helen knew she wearied him, she went onserenely. 

"Is he very busy now?"

"Yes. "

"I can't think why people get ill in the spring, just when the lovelysummer's coming. Does he get called up at night?"

"I suppose so. " He was growing tired of this. "But when I'm in bed, I'masleep, you know. "

"Ah, that's nice for you, " Helen said with a touch of irony as shecarefully pulled out the lace of a dainty collar. "Isn't he ratherlonely when you are up here?"

"Lonely!" Daniel's mouth dropped wider and while he tried to answer thisabsurd question adequately, Rupert entered the room. 

"I told you to meet me outside the Bull, you old idiot. "

Like Miriam, Rupert had the effect of fortifying the life of hissurroundings, but, unlike her, he had a happy trick of seeming moreinterested in others than in himself. He saw at once, with somethingkeener than his keen eyes, that Daniel was bored, that Helen was at workon more than ironing, and with his entrance he scattered the vaguedissension which was abroad. The kitchen recovered from the gloom withwhich Daniel had shadowed it and Daniel himself grew brighter. 

"I thought you said the Plover. "

"You didn't listen. Even you couldn't mistake one for the other, butI've scored off you. Helen, we shall want a good tea. I drove up withZebedee, and he's coming here when he's finished with old Halkett. "

She stood with a cooling iron in her hand. "I'll make some scones. Iexpect Eliza gives him horrid food. And for supper there's cold chickenand salad and plenty of pudding; but how shall we put up the horse?"

"Don't worry, Martha. He's only coming to tea. He won't stay long. "

"Oh, yes, he will. " She had no doubt of it. "I want him to. Make up thefire for me, Daniel, please. " She folded away the ironing cloth andgathered up the little damp cuffs and collars she had not ironed. Afaint smile curved her steady lips, for nothing gave her more happinessthan serving those who had a claim on her, and Zebedee's claim was hislack of womankind to care for him and her own gratitude for hisexistence. He was the one person to whom she could give the name offriend, yet their communion had seldom expressed itself in confidences:the knowledge of it lay snugly and unspoken in her heart. 

"He has never had anything to eat in this house before, " she said witha solemnity which provoked Rupert to laughter. 

"What a sacrament women make of meals!"

"I wish they all did, " Daniel said in the bass notes of genuine feeling. 

"I don't know why you keep that awful woman, " Helen said. 

"Don't start him on Eliza, " Rupert begged. "Eliza and the intricacies ofEnglish law--"

"Have you seen her?" Daniel persisted. 

"No, but of course she's awful if she doesn't give you proper food. "

His look proclaimed his realization that he had never appreciated Helenbefore. "I'm not greedy, " he said earnestly, "but I've got to be fed. "He sent a wavering glance from his chest to his boots. "Bulk is what Ineed, and fat foods, and it's a continuous fight to get them. "

Rupert roared aloud, but there was sympathy in Helen's hidden mirth. "I'll see what I can do for you today, " she said, like an attentivelandlady. "And you are going to stay the night. I fry bacon--oh, wonderfully, and you shall have some for breakfast. But now, " she added, with a little air of dismissal, "I am going to make the scones. "

"Let's have a walk, " Rupert said. 

"I've walked enough. " He had an impulse to stay with Helen. 

"Then come outside and smoke. It's as warm as June. "

Daniel rose slowly, lifting his body piece by piece. "I shouldn't likeyou to think, " he said, "that I care too much for food. "

"I don't. "

"But I've got to be kept going. "

"I quite understand, " she answered busily. Her hands were in the flour;a patch of it, on her pale cheek, showed that her skin had a warm, faintcolour of its own. 

"We'll sit outside and watch for Zebedee, " Rupert told her. 

She had baked the scones, changed her dress and made the table readybefore the guest arrived. From the dining-room she heard his clearvoice, broken by Miriam's low gay one, and, looking from the window, shesaw them both at the gate. Out of sight, behind the wall, Daniel andRupert were talking, involved in one of their interminable discussions, and there were sounds made by the horse as he stretched to eat thegrass. For an instant, Helen felt old and forgotten; she rememberedNotya, who was in trouble, and she herself was shrouded by her ownreadiness to see misfortune; all her little preparations, the flowers onthe table, the scones before the fire, her pretty dress, were gatheredinto one foolishness when she saw Zebedee pushing open the gate andlooking down at Miriam. There was a sudden new pain in Helen's heart, and in a blinding light which dazzled her she saw that the pain wascompounded of jealousy because Miriam was beautiful, and of renunciationbecause it would be impossible to keep anything which Miriam wanted. 

But in the hall, these feelings, like a nightmare in their blackness, passed away when Zebedee uttered the cheerful "Hullo!" with which he hadso often greeted her. There were comfort and safety in hisneighbourhood, in his swift, judging way of looking at people, asthough, without curiosity, he wished to assure himself of theirwell-being and health, and while there was something professional in theglance, it seemed to be a guarantee of his own honesty. His eyes, greywith brown flecks in them, expected people to be reasonable and happy. 

Helen said simply, "I am so glad you have come. "

"I made him, " Miriam said, and put her hand fleetingly on his arm. 

"You didn't. Rupert asked him. "

"Yes, but I waylaid him. He was sneaking home. "

"No, no, I wasn't. "

"Somewhere else, then!"

He thrust his gloves into the pocket of his coat. 

"You were coming, weren't you?" Helen asked. 

"Of course I was. "

She smiled with her extraordinary, almost comic, radiance. "I'll go andmake the tea. "

Because Daniel blundered through the doorway at that moment, Miriamfollowed Helen to the kitchen. 

"He's going to teach me to drive, " she said. "But what a horse! It goeson from generation to generation, like the practice!"

George Halkett had laughed at the horse, too, and Helen felt a coldresentment against him and Miriam. 

"Your hair is very untidy, and your cheeks are blue, " she said. 

"Now you're being a cat. We certainly don't miss Notya when you arehere. I'm in the delightful position, my dear, of being able to affordblue cheeks and untidy hair. Daniel won't notice them. "

"No, he's arguing with Rupert. "

"He came into the house after me. I'm going back to tease him. "

"Oh, do leave the poor thing alone. "

"No, I shan't. He'd be disappointed. "

Helen stood by the fire and watched the kettle and listened to thenoises in the schoolroom. Then a shuffling step came down the passageand Daniel spoke. 

"Can I help you?"

"Thank you very much. " She knew that he had come for refuge and shefilled the teapot and put it into his hands. "Don't drop it. "

"I'll be careful, " he said humbly. 

Walking in the trail of the tea he spilt, she followed him with thekettle. She had not the heart to scold him, and at the dining-room doorhe let out a sharp sound. 

"Oh, dear, has it gone through your boot?" she asked, checking herlaughter. 

"I should just think it has!"

Miriam, whose ears were like a hare's, cried from the schoolroom: "Thenperhaps he'll have to have his boot cut off, and that would spoil thatlovely pair! Whatever you do, Zebedee, try to spare his boot!"

"She never leaves me alone, " Daniel muttered to the pot. 

"Don't take any notice of her, " Helen said. 

Daniel looked up mournfully. "Wouldn't you?"

"No. Sit here and talk to me. " She called through the open door. "Comein, everybody!" With Daniel on one side of the table and Zebedee on theother, John's absence was the less apparent. Twilight had not yet come, but Helen had lighted candles to give the room a festive look, and therewas a feeling of freedom and friendship in the house. They all talked ofunimportant things, and there was laughter amid the chinking of thecups. For the young men, the presence of the girls had a potent, hardlyadmitted charm: for Miriam there was the exciting antagonism of sex: forHelen there was a pleasure which made her want to take deep breaths. 

"Oh!" Miriam cried at last, and flung herself back in her chair. "Isn'tthis good? Why can't it always be like this?"

"Hush!" Helen said. 

"You know it's nicer without her. "

"I didn't want you to tempt things, " Helen explained. 

"She's as superstitious as a savage, " Rupert said. "Talk to her, Zebedee, man of science. "

"Yes, I will. " His glance was humorous but not quite untroubled. 

"When?" she said, with great willingness. 

"After tea. "

"We've finished, haven't we?" Miriam asked. "Daniel, be quick and drinkthat. We're all waiting for you. And don't slop it on your waistcoat. There's a good boy! Very nice. Come into the drawing-room and I'll playto you. I might even sing. Ask Helen if you may get down. "

"May I?" he asked, and went after Miriam. 

The notes of the old piano tinkled through the hall. Miriam was playinga waltz, lightly and gaily. 

"I'll go and make Daniel dance with me, " Rupert said. 

"Don't tease him any more. "

"It'll do him good, and I want Zebedee to have a chance of lecturingyou. "

"It's not easy to lecture you, " Zebedee said. 

"Isn't it?"

Above their voices and the tinkling music there now came Daniel'sprotest, Rupert's persuasions, and Miriam's laughter: then these alldied away and the waltz called out plaintively and with desire. 

"She is making the piano cry, " Helen said. 

Zebedee did not speak, for he was listening: the whole house waslistening. No other sound came from the drawing-room, and Helen fanciedthat Mr. Penderwell was standing on the stairs, held by the memory ofdays when he had taken his lady by her tiny waist and felt the whiff ofher muslin skirts against him as they whirled. The children on thelanding were wide-eyed and hushed in their quiet play. The sounds grewfainter; they faded away as though the ballroom had grown dark andempty, and for a little space all the listeners seemed to be easingthemselves of sighs. Then Miriam's whistle, like a blackbird's, cameclearly. She did not know how well she had been playing. 

Helen stood up. "I wonder if the horse has walked away. Go into thedrawing-room. I'll see. "

"No. I'll come with you. "

The music had subdued their voices and, because they had heard ittogether, they seemed to be wrapped round by it in a world unknown toanybody else. Quietly they went out of the house and found the horse, only a few yards distant, with his feet tangled in the reins. 

"You ought to have fastened him to the post, " Helen said, and togetherthey led him back. 

"Shall we take him out of the cart?"

"But I ought to go home. "

"No, " she said. 

"Perhaps not. "

The sunshine had gone, and over the moor the light was grey; grey cloudshung low in the sky, and as he looked down at her, it seemed to Zebedeethat Helen was some emanation of grey earth and air. 

"We'll take him out, " she said. 

"And then what shall we do with him?"

"I believe he'd be quite happy in the kitchen!"

"Yes, he's a domesticated old boy. "

"We can't put him in the hen-house. Just tie him to the post and let himeat. "

When that was done, she would have gone into the house, but Zebedee kepther back. 

"Mayn't we stay in the garden? Are you warm enough?"

She nodded to both questions. "Let us go round to the back. " The path atthe side of the house was dark with shrubs. "I don't like this littlebit, " she said. "I hardly ever walk on it. It's--"

"What?"

"Oh, they don't come out. They stay there and get unhappy. "

"The bushes?"

"The spirits in them. "

He walked beside her with his hands behind his back and his head bent. 

"You're thinking, " she said. 

"Yes. "

"Don't, " she begged, "think away from me. "

He stopped, surprised. "I'm not doing that--but why?"

"I don't know, " she said, looking him in the eyes, "but I should hateit. "

"I was wondering how to bring myself to scold you. "

They had reached the lawn and, caught by the light from thedrawing-room, they stood under the poplars and watched the shadowsmoving on walls and ceiling. The piano and the people in the room wereout of sight, and Miriam's small, husky voice came with a hint ofmystery. 

"'Drink to me only with thine eyes, '" she sang. 

"'And I will pledge with mine, '" Rupert joined in richly. 

"'Or leave a kiss within the cup--'"

In silence, under the trees, Helen and Zebedee listened to the singing, to voices wrangling about the words, and when a figure appeared at thewindow they turned together and retreated beyond the privet hedge, behind John's vegetable garden and through the door on to the moor. 

The earth was so black that the rising ground was exaggerated into ahill; against it, Helen's figure was like a wraith, yet Zebedee wasacutely conscious of her slim solidity. He was also half afraid of her, and he had an easily controlled desire to run from the delight she gavehim, a delight which hurt and reminded him too clearly of past joys. 

"Now, " she said, and stood before him in her dangerous simplicity. "Whatare you going to say?"

She seemed to have walked out of the darkness into his life, a fewnights ago, an unexpected invasion, but one not to be repelled, nor didhe wish to repel it. He was amazed to hear himself uttering his thoughtsaloud. 

"I always liked you when you were a little girl, " he said, as though heaccounted for something to himself. 

"Better than Miriam?" she asked quickly. 

"Of course. "

"Oh, " she said, and paused. "But I feel as if Miriam--" She stoppedagain and waited for his next words, but he saw the steepness of thepath on which he had set his feet and he would not follow it. 

"And I used to think you looked--well, brave. "

"Did I? Don't I now?"

"Yes; so you see, you must be. "

"I'll try. Three stars, " she said, looking up. "But mayn't I--mayn't Isay the things I'm thinking?"

"I hope you will, " he answered gravely; "but then, you must be carefulwhat you think. "

"This is a very gentle lecture, " she said. "Four stars, now. Five. WhenI've counted seven, we'll go back, but I rather hoped you would be alittle cross. "

Pleased, yet half irritated, by this simplicity, he stood in silencewhile she counted her seven stars. 

CHAPTER XI

It had long been a custom of the Canipers to spend each warm Sundayevening in the heather, and there, if Daniel were not already with them, they would find him waiting, or they would watch for his gaunt, loosefigure to come across the moor. This habit had begun when his father wasalive, and the stern chapel-goer's anger must be dared before Danielcould appear with the light of a martyr on his brow. In those days, Zebedee, who was working under the old doctor, sometimes arrived withDaniel, and sank with an unexpressed relief into the lair which was alittle hollow in the moor, where heather grew thickly on the sides, butpermitted pale violets and golden tormentilla to creep about the grassybottom. Zebedee was more than ten years older than his brother, and hesuffered from a loneliness which made their honest welcome of greatvalue to him. He liked to listen to the boys' precocious talk and watchthe grace and beauty of the girls before he went back to the ugly housein the town of dreary streets, to the work he liked and wearied himselfover, and the father he did not understand. Then he went away, and henever knew how bitterly Helen missed him, how she had recognized thetired look which said he had been working too hard, and the unhappy lookwhich betrayed his quarrels with his father, and how, in her ownfashion, she had tried to smooth those looks away, and now he hadreturned with a new expression on his face. It was that, she thought, ofa man who, knowing misery like a great block in his path, had riddenover it and not looked back. She knew what Rupert meant by saying he wasdifferent, and again she felt a strong dislike for all his experienceswhich she had not shared. 

On the evening after his visit, the Canipers and Daniel went to thetrysting place. Helen wrapped herself in a shawl and lay down with herhead on her arms and one eye for the clouds, but she did not listen tothe talk, and she had no definite thoughts. The voices of Rupert andDaniel were like the buzzing of bees, a sound of warmth and summer, andthe smell of their tobacco came and went on the wind. She was aware thatJohn, having smoked for a time and disagreed with everything that wassaid, had walked off towards the road, and the succeeding peace wasproof that Miriam too, had disappeared. 

Helen rolled on her back and went floating with the clouds. While shemerely watched them, she thought they kept a level course, but to gowith them was like riding on a swollen sea, and as she rose and fell inslow and splendid curves, she discovered differences of colour andquality in a medium which seemed invariable from below. She swoopeddownwards like a bird on steady wings and saw the moor lifting itselftowards her until she anticipated a shock; she was carried upwardsthrough a blue that strained to keep its colour, yet wearied into apallor which almost let out the stars. She saw the eye of a hawk as itsvictims knew it, and for a time she kept pace with a lark and saw themusic in his throat before he uttered it. Joy escaped her in a littlesound, and then she felt that the earth was solid under her. 

Daniel and Rupert were still discussing the great things which did notmatter, and idly she marvelled at their capacity for argument andquarrel; but she realized that for Rupert, at least, this was a sportequivalent to her game of sailing with the clouds, and when she turnedto look at him, she saw him leaning against his heather bush, wearingthe expression most annoying to an antagonist, and flicking brokenheather stalks at Daniel's angular and monumental knees. 

"You talk of the mind, " Rupert said, "as though it were the stomach. "

"I do, " Daniel said heavily. 

"And your stomach at that! Bulk and fat foods--"

"This is merely personal, " Daniel said, "and a sign that you are beingbeaten, as usual. I was going to say that in a day of fuller knowledgewe shall be able to predict the effect of emotions with the samecertainty--"

"With which you now predict the effect of Eliza's diet. God forbid!Anyhow, I shall be dead. Come on. "

Daniel stood up obediently, for they had now reached the point wherethey always rose and walked off side by side, in the silence ofamusement and indignation. 

There was a rustling in the heather, and she heard no more of them. Thenthe thud of approaching footsteps ran along the ground, and she sat upto see Miriam with Zebedee. 

"I went fishing, " Miriam said, "and this is what I caught. "

He smiled at Helen a little uncertainly. "I had some time to spare, andI thought you wouldn't mind if I came up here. You used to let me. "

"I've always wanted you to come back, " she said with her disconcertingfrankness. 

"You may sit down, " Miriam said, "and go on telling us about yourchildhood. Helen, we'd hardly said how d'you do when he began on that. It's a sure sign of age. "

"I am old. "

"Oh, " Helen murmured. "No. " She dropped back into her bed. She could seeZebedee's grey coat sleeve and the movements of his arm as he found andfilled his pipe, and by moving her head half an inch she saw his collarand his lean cheek. 

"Yes, old, " he said, "and the reason I mentioned my unfortunatechildhood was to point a moral in content. When I was young I was madeto go to chapel twice on Sundays, three times counting Sunday-school, and here I find you all wandering about the moor. "

"I'd rather have had the chapel, " Miriam said. "One could at least lookat people's hats. "

"The hats in our particular Bethel were chiefly bonnets. Bonnets withthings in them that nodded, and generally black. " He stared across themoor. "I don't know that the memory of them is a thing to cherish. "

Helen tried to do justice to the absent. "We were never told not to go. We could do what we liked. "

"Ah, but we weren't encouraged, " Miriam chuckled. "You have to beencouraged, don't you, Zebedee, before you go into places like that?"

"My father had other methods, " he said grimly. 

The silence tightened on his memories, and no one spoke until Miriamsaid, almost gently, "Please tell us some more. "

"The pews were a bright yellow, and looked sticky. The roof was paintedblue, with stars. There was a man in a black gown with special knowledgeon the subject of sin. "

"That, " Miriam said pensively, "must have been amusing. "

"No. Only dreary and somehow rather unclean. I liked to go to thesurgery afterwards and smell the antiseptics. "

"I wish the horrible black-gowned man could know that, " Helen saidfiercely. 

He looked down, smiling tolerantly. "But it doesn't matter now. "

"It does. It will always matter. You were little--" She broke off andhuddled herself closer in her shawl, as though she held a small thing inits folds. 

He found nothing to say; he was swept by gratitude for this tenderness. It was, he knew, what she would have given to anything needing comfort, but it was no less wonderful for that and he was warmed by it and, atthe same time, disturbed. She seemed to have her hands near his heart, and they were pressing closer. 

"Go on, " said Miriam, unconscious of the emotions that lived near her. "I like to hear about other people's miseries. Were you rather a funnylittle boy?"

"I expect so. "

"Pale and plain, I should think, " she said consideringly, "with too biga nose. Oh, it's all right now, rather nice, but little boys so oftenhave noses out of proportion. I shall have girls. Did you wear blackclothes on Sunday?"

"I'm afraid so. "

"Poor little ugly thing! Helen, are you listening? Black clothes! Andyour hair oiled?"

"No, not so bad as that. My mother was a very particular lady. "

"Can you tell us about her?" Helen asked. 

"I don't know that I can. "

"You oughtn't to have suggested it, " Miriam said in a reproof which wasready to turn to mockery at a hint from Zebedee. 

"He won't tell us if he doesn't want to. You wouldn't be hurt byanything we said, would you?"

"Of course not. The difficulty is that there seems nothing to tell. Shewas so quiet, as I remember her, and so meek, and yet one felt quitesafe with her. I don't think she was afraid, as I was, but there wassomething, something that made things uncertain. I can't explain. "

"I expect she was too gentle at the beginning, " Helen said. "She let himhave his own way and then she was never able to catch up, and all thetime--all the time she was thinking perhaps you were going to sufferbecause she had made that mistake. And that would make her so anxiousnot to make another, wouldn't it? And so--"

"And so it would go on. But how did you discover that?"

"Oh, I know some things, " she said, and ended feebly, "about somethings. "

"She died when I was thirteen and Daniel three, and my father was veryunhappy. "

"I didn't like your father a bit, " Miriam said. 

"He was a good man in his way, his uncomfortable way. "

"Then I like them wickeder than that. "

"It made him uncomfortable too, you know. "

"If you're going to preach--"

He laughed. "I didn't mean to. I was only offering you the experience ofmy maturity!"

"Well, I'm getting stiff and cold. Helen likes that kind of thing. Giveit to her while I get warm. Unless you'll lend me your shawl, Helen?"

"No, I won't. "

"I must go too, " said Zebedee, but he did not move and Helen did notspeak. His thoughts were on her while his eyes were on the dark line ofmoor touching the sky; yet he thought less of her than of the strangeways of life and the force which drew him to this woman whom he hadknown a child so short a time ago. He wondered if what he felt werereal, if the night and the mystery of the moor had not bewitched him, for she had come to him at night out of the darkness with the windwhistling round her. It was so easy, as he knew, for a solitary being tofasten eagerly on another, like a beaten boat to the safety of a buoy, but while he thus admonished himself, he had no genuine doubt. He knewthat she was what he wanted: her youth, her wisdom, her smoothness, herserenity, and the many things which made her, even the stubbornnesswhich underlay her calm. 

Into these reflections her voice came loudly, calling him from theheights. 

"I do wish you wouldn't keep Eliza. She's a most unsuitable person tolook after you. "

He laughed so heartily and so long that she sat up to look at him. "Idon't know what's amusing you, " she said. 

"It's so extraordinarily like you!"

"Oh!"

"And why don't you think her suitable?"

"From things Daniel has told me. "

"Oh, Daniel is an old maid. She's ugly and disagreeable, but shedelivers messages accurately, and that's all I care about. Don't believeall Daniel's stories. "

"They worry me, " she said. 

"Do you worry about every one's affairs?" he asked, and feared she wouldhear the jealousy in his voice. 

"I know so few people, you see. Oughtn't I to?"

"I'm humbly thankful, " he said with a light gravity. 

"Then I'll go on. Aren't you lonely on Sundays in that house with onlythe holly bush and the rowan and the apple-trees that bear no fruit? Whydon't you come up here?"

"May I?"

"You belong to the moor, too, " she said. 

He nodded his thanks for that. "Who told you about our trees? Danielagain?"

"Yes; but I asked him. "

He stood up. "I must go back. Thank you and good night. "

It was getting dark and, with a heavy feeling in her heart, she watchedhim walk away, while Miriam ran up with a whirl of skirts, crying out, "Is he going? Is he going? Come and see him to the road. "

Helen shook her head. She would let Miriam have anything she wanted, butshe would not share with her. She turned her back on the thin stridingfigure and the small running one behind it, and she went into the house. There, the remembrance of Mildred Caniper went with her from room toroom, and the house itself seemed to close on Helen and hold her in. 

She stood at the schoolroom window and watched the twilight give placeto night. In the garden, the laurel bushes were quite black and itseemed to her that the whole world was dead except herself and thelurking shadows that filled the house. Zebedee, who tramped the longroad to the town, had become hardly more than a toy which had been woundup and would go on for ever. Then, on the hillside, a spark leapt out, and she knew that John or Lily Brent had lighted the kitchen lamp. 

CHAPTER XII

Miriam took Zebedee to the road and, finding him uninteresting, she gavehim a scant good-night and left him. She sank into the heather and toldherself many times that she did not know what to do. She had wit enoughto realize that she was almost ridiculous in her discontent, but forthat Notya must be blamed, and her own immediate necessity was to findamusement. In all the vastness of the moor, George Halkett was the onlybeing who could give her a taste of what she wanted, and she hadquarrelled with George Halkett. She sat and glowered at the white roadcutting the darkness of the moor and she thought it had the cruel lookof a sharp and powerful knife. It seemed to threaten her and, though shehad all youth's faith in her good fortune, at times she was taken by apanic lest she should turn out to be one of those whom fate leftstranded. That fear was on her now, for there were such women, she knew, and sometimes they were beautiful! Perhaps they were often beautiful, and in the long run it might be better to be good, yet she would nothave exchanged her looks for all the virtues in the world. 

"Nobody would!" she cried aloud, and, seizing two bunches of heather bytheir stalks, she shook them violently. 

Nevertheless, she might grow old on the moor and marry Daniel indespair. She shuddered. No one could love Daniel enough to pardon hisappearance, and amusement would soon change to hatred. She tormentedherself with pictures of their common life. She saw his shapelessclothes lying about the room she had to share with him; his boots staredup at her from the hall with much of his own expression. She heard himtalking legally to her through their meals and saw him gazing at herwith his peculiar, timid worship. But if they had children, they wouldhave Daniel's stamp on them, and then he would grow bold and take allshe gave for granted. Girls and boys alike, they would be big and gauntand clumsy, but considerate and good. 

She threw her arms across her breast and held herself in a fury ofself-possession. Marriage suddenly appeared to her as an ugly thing evenif it attained to the ideal. No, no! Men were good to play with, totease and torture, but she had fixed her limits, and she fixed them withsome astonishment for her own reserve. The discovery of this inherentcoldness had its effect: it bounded her future in a manner which was toodisturbing for much contemplation, but it also gave her a new freedom ofaction, assuring her that she need have no fears for her own restraint, that when her chance came, she might go into the world like a Helen ofTroy who could never be beguiled. In the meantime, though she hadquarrelled with George Halkett, she remembered that she had not forswornhis company; she had only sworn to punish him for having told the truth, and she easily pretended not to know that her resentment was no morethan an excuse. 

She swung herself to her feet, and not without fear, for the moor hadnever been her friend, she walked quickly towards the patch of darknessmade by the larch-trees. "I am being driven to this, " she thoughtdramatically and with the froth of her mind. She went with her head heldtragically high, but in her throat, where humour met excitement, therewas a little run of laughter. 

The trees stood without movement, as though they were weighted byforeknowledge and there was alarm in the voice of the stream. Shestopped short of the water and stood by the brown path that led down tothe farm, and her feet could feel the softness of many falls of larchneedles. She listened and she could hear nothing but the small noises ofthe wood and all round it the moor was like a circle of enchantmentkeeping back intruders. There was no wind, but she was cold and herdesire for George had changed its quality. She wanted the presence ofanother human being in this stillness; she would have welcomed Mrs. Samson with a shout and even Notya with a smile, but she found herselfunable to turn and make for home. It would have been like letting dangerloose on her. 

"George!" she called loudly, before she knew she was going to do it. "George, George, George!" Her voice, shriller than its wont, raged ather predicament. 

A dog barked in the hollow and came nearer. She heard George silencehim, and she knew that man and dog were approaching through the wood. Then her fears vanished and she strolled a few paces from the trees andstood, an easy mark for George when he appeared. 

"Was it you who called?" he asked her from a little distance. 

"Me?" Now he was close to her, and she saw his guarded eyes softenunwillingly. 

"Somebody called. Didn't you hear the dog barking? Somebody called'George!'"

"Perhaps, " she ventured in the falsely innocent manner which bothrecognized as foolish and unworthy and in which both took a differentdelight, "perhaps it was--thought-reading!"

"With the dog?" he sneered. 

"You and the dog, " she said, joining them deliberately. "It's getting sodark that I can hardly see your cross face. That's a good thing, becauseI want to say thank you for driving Uncle Alfred and Notya to thestation. "

"That's all right, " he said, and added with a sullen curiosity, "Is hethe one who's going to adopt you?"

"Yes. "

"He hasn't done it yet?"

"I'm not sure that I want to go. George, shall I tell you something?Something charming, a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night--I didcall you!"

"Well, " he said after a pause, "I knew that. "

"You weren't certain. Tell the truth! Were you certain?"

"No, I was not, " he said with the sulky honesty which should have movedher. 

"And had you been thinking of me?"

He would not answer that. 

"I shan't be hurt, " she said, swaying from foot to foot, "because Iknow!" Against the invading blackness her face and teeth gleamedclearly. 

"You're like a black cat!" he burst out, in forgetfulness of himself. 

"A witch's cat!"

"A witch. "

"Do you think witches are ever afraid? Only when they see the cross, isn't it? But I was, George, when I called out. "

"What of?"

"I--don't know. The quietness and the dark. "

He gave a short laugh which tried to conceal his pleasure in herweakness. 

"Aren't you ever?"

"Can't remember it. "

"Not of anything?"

"No. "

"How--stupid of you. "

"Stupid?"

"Yes, when the world's full of things you don't understand. "

"But nothing happens. "

That was her own complaint, but from him the words came in the securityof content. "But tonight--" she began, shivered lightly and raised herhand. "What's that?"

He lifted his head; the dog, sitting at his feet, had cocked his ears. "Nothing. "

"I heard something. "

Hardly heeded, he put his strong fingers on her wrist and grasped it. His voice was rich and soft. "What's the matter with you tonight?"

Unmistakably now, a sound came from the hollow; not, this time, theraging of old Halkett, but a woman's cry for help, clear and insistent. 

"It must be my father, " he said, and his hand fell away from Miriam's;but for a few seconds he stared at her as though she could tell him whathad happened. Then he went after the dog in his swift passage throughthe trees, while, urged by an instinct to help and a need for George'ssolid company, Miriam followed. She was soon outstripped, so that herdescent was made alone. Twigs crackled under her feet, the ranks oftrees seemed to rush past her as she went, and, with the return ofself-remembrance, she knew that this was how she had felt long ago whenshe read fairy stories about forests and enchanted castles. 

Yet she would have been less alarmed at the sight of a moated, loop-holed pile than at this of Halkett's farm, a white-washedhomestead, with light beaming from a window on the ground floor, thewhole encompassed by a merely mortal possibility of strange events. Herimpulse had been to rush into the house, but she stood still, feelingthe presence of the trees like a thick curtain shutting away the outer, upper world and, having paused, she found that she could not pursue hercourse. 

"I must go back, " she whispered. After all, this was not her affair. 

A murmur of voices came from the lighted room; the movement of a horsein the stables was the friendliest sound she had ever heard. Reluctantly, for she was alive with curiosity, she turned to go when astep rang on the flagged passage of the farm and George stood in thedoorway. He beckoned and met her half way across the yard. 

"He's gone, " he said, and he looked dazed. "Can't believe it, " hemuttered. 

"Oh!" she said under her breath. "Oh, dear!" It was her turn to put ahand on him, for she was afraid of death. 

"Can't believe it, " he said again, and taking her with him, he went asthough he were drawn, towards the lighted windows and looked in. 

"Yes, " he said, assuring himself that this thing really was. 

Fascinated by the steadfastness of his gaze, Miriam looked too and drewback with a muffled cry. She had seen the old man rigid on a red velvetsofa, his head on a yellow cushion, his grey hair in some way coarsenedby the state of death, his limbs clad in the garments of every day andstrangely insulted by them. Near him, with her back to the window andstraight and stiff as a sentinel, sat Mrs. Biggs, the housekeeper, theknob of her smooth black hair defying destiny. 

Still whispering, Miriam begged, "George, don't look any more. " Herhorror was as much for the immobile woman as for the dead man. "Comeaway, before she turns round. I want to go home. George--I'm sorry. "

"Yes, " he said. 

"Good-night. "

"Good-night, " he answered, and she saw him look through the windowagain. 

Going across the moor, she cried feebly. She wished old Halkett had notbeen lying on the red sofa. He should have died in the big kitchen ofhis fathers, or upstairs in a great bed, not in that commonly-furnishedlittle sitting-room where the work-basket of Mrs. Biggs kept companywith a cheap china lamp and photographs in frames. She wondered how theywould manage to undress him, and for how long Mrs. Biggs would sitbeside him like a fate, a fate in a red blouse and a brown skirt. Perhaps even now they were pulling off his clothes. Terrible for Georgeto have to do that, she thought, yet it seemed natural enough work forMrs. Biggs, with her hard mouth and cold eyes, and no doubt she hadoften put him to bed in the lusty days of his carousals. Perhaps thedead could really see from under their stiff eyelids, and old Halkettwould laugh at the difficulty with which they disrobed him for this lasttime. Perhaps he had been watching when George and she looked throughthe window. Until now she had never seen him when he did not leer ather, and she felt that he must still be leering under the mask of death. 

The taint of what she had looked on hung heavily about her, and thefresh air of the moor could not clear it away. Crying still, in littlewhimpers which consoled her, she stole through the garden and the houseto the beautiful solitude of Phoebe's room and the cleanliness oflinen sheets. 

Supperless she lay there, by turn welcoming and rejecting the pictureswhich appeared on the dark wall of her mind, and when Helen knocked onthe door she was not bidden to enter. 

"Don't you want anything to eat?" she called. 

"No. "

"What's the matter?"

"I--feel sick. "

"Then mayn't I come in and look after you?" Helen asked in a voicewhich impelled Miriam to bark an angry negative. 

It was Helen, who liked to help people, to whom this thing should havehappened, yet Miriam possessed her experience jealously; it had brokeninto the monotony of life and to that extent she was grateful. 

"And I must be very kind to George, " she decided before she went tosleep. 

She dropped her white eyelids the next morning when John gave the newsof the old man's death, for she did not want to betray her knowledge. 

"Oh!" Helen said, and Rupert remarked lightly and watchfully thatZebedee would now be less often on the moor. 

"There's still the funeral, " Helen said oddly. 

"And let's hope they'll bury him soon, " John added, and so finished withold Halkett. 

Helen was still thoughtful. "Perhaps we ought to go and be nice toGeorge. There won't be anything we can do, but we might ask him if thereis. "

"The less you have to do with George--" John began, and Miriaminterrupted him, clicking her tongue. 

"Helen, Helen, haven't you heard about George and Lily Brent? A dreadfulstory. Ask John. "

"If you're not careful, " he said menacingly, "I'll do what she did tohim. "

"No, no, you won't, Johnny; for, in spite of everything, you're a littlegentleman. "

"Oh, do be quiet, you two! Rupert's trying to say something. "

"Send a note of condolence to George, " he advised, "and I'll go to thefuneral. It's no good asking John to do it. He wouldn't shine. Heavens!it's late, and I haven't cleaned the boots!"

The boys went about their business and left the girls to theirs. 

"I don't think a note is enough for George, " Helen said as she rolled upher sleeves. "A man without a mother or a father, and only a Mrs. Biggs!"

"H'm, " Miriam commented. "Except for Mrs. Biggs, I don't know that he'sto be pitied. Still, I'm quite willing to be agreeable, unless you meanto go and knock at the farm door?"

"No. Couldn't we catch him somewhere!"

"Yes, " Miriam said too promptly. She made a cautious pause. "He won't beriding on the moor today, because there'll be undertakers and things. Ifwe went down the road--or shall I go alone?"

"Both of us--to represent the family. And we can say we're sorry--"

"But we're not. "

"Yes, in a way. Sorry he hadn't a nicer father to be sorry for. "

"What about ours?" Miriam asked. 

"He may be dead, too, by now. "

"And that will matter less to us than old Halkett does to George. "

"But the great thing, " Helen said, "is to have people one can't beashamed of. "

"Oh!"

"I know; but it's true. And our father would always look nice and bepolite, even when he was dying. Old Halkett--"

"Don't talk about him! Come along. We'll catch George on his way to thatshop with the pictures of hearses in the window. If I die before you, don't put me in one of those black carts. "

"I don't think I could put you into anything, " Helen said with simplefervour. 

"Then you'd have to mummify me and stick me up in the hall beside thegrandfather clock, and you'd think the ticking was my heart. "

"There are hearts beating all over the house now, " Helen said. "But thisis not meeting George, " she added, and rolled her sleeves down again. 

They waylaid him successfully where the road met Halkett's lane, andfrom his horse he looked down on the two upturned faces. 

"We've heard about Mr. Halkett, " Helen said, gazing with friendlinessand without embarrassment into his eyes. "I suppose there's nothing wecan do?"

"Nothing, thanks. "

"And Rupert said he would like to go to the funeral, if he may. "

"Thank you. I'll let him know about it. " He glanced at Miriam andhesitated, yet when he spoke it was in a franker voice than the one shewas used to hear. "I'm afraid you were upset last night. "

Her answering look made a pact between them. "We didn't hear about ittill this morning. "

He nodded, watching her through his thick lashes. He gave her a strongimpression that he was despising her a little, and she saw him look fromher to Helen as though he made comparisons. Indeed, at that moment, hethought that these sisters were like thirst and the means to quench it, like heat and shade; and a sudden restlessness made him shift in hisseat. 

"I expect you have a lot to do, " Helen said. "Good-bye. "

"Good-bye. And thank you, " he said gruffly, and caught the flash ofMiriam's smile as he turned. 

Helen stood looking after him. "Poor George!" she said. "I rather likehim. I wish he wouldn't drink. "

"Exaggerated stories, " Miriam remarked neatly. 

"Oh, yes, but he looks as if he had never had a chance of being nice. "

"I don't believe he has ever wanted one, " Miriam said. 

CHAPTER XIII

Uncle Alfred wrote a short note from Calais, and on the day when oldHalkett was taken to his grave another letter came to say that PhilipCaniper was dead before the travellers could reach him. 

"Then we're poor little orphans, like George, " Miriam said, and, withthe peering look which asked how far she might venture, she added, "And, like George, we have our Mrs. Biggs. "

If Helen heard those words, she made no sign. "She'll never be happyagain, " she said. 

"Well, she never has been happy, and she has never wanted us to behappy, so nothing's changed. "

"What can we do?" Helen went on, and her thoughts alighted on suchpractical kindnesses as a perfect state of cleanliness in the house towhich Notya would return, flowers in her bedroom for a welcome, and agreat willingness to do what pleased her. "But we mustn't be tooobvious, " she murmured to herself. 

"And whatever you do, don't slobber. "

"Is it likely?" Helen asked superbly. 

The firmest intentions in that direction would have been frustrated bythe sight of Mildred Caniper's cold face, and Helen saw with surprisethat it was almost as it had always been. Her "Well, Helen!" was as calmas her kiss, and only when she raised her veil was her bitter need ofsleep revealed. Then, too, Helen saw that her features and her fair, bright colouring had suffered an indefinable blurring, as though, insome spiritual process, their sharpness had been lost, and while shelooked at her, Helen felt the full weight of responsibility for thiswoman settling once more on her own slim shoulders. Yet she noticed thatthe shadows which had hung so thickly in the house became thinner assoon as Mildred Caniper entered it. No doubt they had slipped into thebody which was their home. 

"Daniel is here, " Helen said, "because it's Saturday and we didn't knowyou were coming. "

"Well?"

"I thought you might be sorry. And we have asked him to stay the night. "

"I promise not to turn him out, " Mildred Caniper said, with her humorouslook, and Helen laughed back with a friendliness for which Miriam, listening in a corner, admired her secretly. 

"But I shall want to talk to you this evening when you are alltogether, " Notya said. 

For that ceremony, Miriam wore her customary black with an air which atonce changed the dress into one of mourning; the fashion of her hair wassubdued to match her manners, and Daniel, having a dim notion that hemight unknowingly have offended, asked in his clumsy way what troubledher. 

She edged closer to him and looked up, and he could see that she waslaughing at herself, though that helped him not at all. 

"Isn't my father dead? And aren't we going to have a family consultationin the dining-room? Well, here am I. "

"I see. "

"What do you see?"

He turned away. "I'm not going to tell you. "

"Ah, Daniel dear, do! I know I'm horrid and frivolous and vain, and Itease you, but I'm very fond of you and I should love--oh, love--you totell me something nice. Quick, Daniel! Quick, before the others comein!"

He was red, and his forehead glistened as he said, "You'll only throw itup at me. "

"Oh, as if I would! I don't care for that expression, but I won't. Daniel, some one's coming!"

He blew his nose and bent over his book, yet through the trumpeting andthe manipulation of his handkerchief, she heard a word. 

"Beautiful, " he mumbled. 

"Always?"

He nodded, and like a delighted child, she clapped her hands. 

Rupert, less debonair than usual, opened the door. "Come on, " he said. "We're all ready. Daniel, stay where you are. We don't want you tumblinginto the conclave. "

"All right, all right. "

"Got something to keep you quiet?"

"Greek grammar. "

"Good man. Now then!" He plunged across the hall as though it were anicy bath. 

In the candle-lighted dining-room, Mildred Caniper sat by a wood fire. The table barricaded her from the four Canipers who sat and looked ather with serious eyes, and suddenly she found that she had very littleto say. Those eyes and the four mouths curved, in their different ways, for passion and resolve, seemed to be making courteous mock of her; yetthree at least of the Canipers were conscious only of pity for herloneliness behind the shining table. 

"After all, " she said, trying to be at ease, "there is not much to tellyou; but I felt that, perhaps, you have never understood your fathervery well. "

"He did not give us the opportunity, " Rupert said. 

John had his shoulders raised as though he would shield his ears fromfamily discordances, and he swore inwardly at Rupert for answering back. What was the good of that? The man was dead, and he might be allowed torest. It was strange, he thought, that Rupert, under his charming ways, had a hardness of which he himself was not capable. 

"No, " Mildred Caniper was saying, and by her tone she shifted the blamefrom her husband to his children. The word acted as a full stop to herconfidences, and there was an uneasy pause. 

"But tell us, please, " Helen said, leaning forward. 

"Oh, please, " Rupert added. 

Mildred Caniper smiled waveringly, between pride and pain. "I was onlygoing to tell you a little about him, but now I don't know that I can. "She swallowed hard. "I wanted you to know how gifted he was. "

"How?" Rupert asked. 

"He wrote, " she said, defying their criticism of what they had not seen, "but he destroyed all he did because he was never satisfied. I foundnothing--anywhere. "

Here was a father whom Rupert could understand, and for the first timehe regretted not having known him; but to John it was foolishness for aman to set his hand to work which was not good enough to stand. He mustcontent himself with a humbler job. 

"He liked only the best, " Mildred Caniper said, doing her duty by him, and the next moment she caught the full shaft of Miriam's unwary glancewhich was bright with the conviction that her father's desertion neededno more explanation. 

Mildred Caniper's mind registered the personal affront, and swept on toits implication as rain sweeps up a valley. The result was darkness, andas she sat straight and motionless in her chair, she seemed to herselfto struggle, for her soul sighted despair. Long ago, she had taken lifeinto her hands and used it roughly, and life was taking its slowrevenge. In the shuttered room by the sea, the dead man, deaf to thewords with which she had hurried to him, and here, in this house, theeyes of Miriam announced her failure, yet to that cold clay and to thisliving flesh she had been, and was, a power. 

She dropped her hands limply. She was tired of this fictitious power;she was almost ready to pretend no longer; and with that thought shefound herself being observed by Helen with a tenderness she was notwilling to endure. She spoke abruptly, resigning the pious task ofsweetening Philip Caniper's memory. 

"Your father has left you each nearly a hundred pounds a year"--sheglanced at Miriam--"to be handed over when you have reached the age oftwenty-one. "

There was a feeling that some one ought to thank him, but no one spoke, and his children left the room with an unaccountable sense of guilt. 

In the safety of the schoolroom Miriam's voice rose bitterly: "Oh, whyaren't we an ordinary family? Why can't we cry for a father who leavesus nearly a hundred pounds?"

"Try to, " Rupert advised. He was smiling queerly to himself. 

"Helen, isn't it horrid?"

"No: I don't like crying. "

"John, you look as though you're going to refuse the money. I will ifyou do. John--"

"Don't be a little fool, " he said. "Refuse it! I'm holding on to it withboth hands. "

She drooped forlornly, but no one seemed to notice her. Daniel wasabsorbed in the Greek grammar, and the others were thinking their ownthoughts. 

"I'll go on to the moor, " she told herself, and she slipped through thewindow in search of what adventure she could find. Outside the gardenshe paused and nodded towards the house. 

"I don't care, " she said. "It's all their fault. And Helen--oh, I couldkill Helen!" Wickedly she tried to mimic Helen's face. 

A few minutes later John followed through the window, and he went intothe darkness with a strange excitement. For a time he did not think, forhe was experiencing all the relief of daring to feel freely, and theeffect was at first only a lightening of the heart and feet. Hardlyknowing where he wandered, he found himself on the moor behind BrentFarm, and there, in the heather, he sat down to light his pipe. He waspuzzled when the match quivered in his hand, and then he became awarethat innumerable pulses were beating in his body, and with thatrealization others rushed on him, and he knew how he had held himself incheck for months, and how he desired the touch of Lily Brent's splendidstrength and the sight of her drowsy, threatening eyes. Picturing her, he could not rest, and he rose and marched aimlessly to and fro. He hadbeen a fool, he told himself: he had denied his youth and doubted her:proud in poverty, he should have gone to her and offered all he had, thelove and labour of his body and brain, honouring her in asking her totake him empty-handed if she would take him at all. Now he must go toher as though she could be bought at the price of a hundred pounds ayears and the poor thing he had once called his pride, known now for amere notion gathered from some source outside himself. He who hadscorned convention had been its easy victim, and he bit hard at his pipestem and grunted in disgust. 

"We get half our ideas out of books, " he said. "No woman would have beensuch a fool. They get things at first hand. "

He stopped and pointed at the farm. No doubt the woman down there hadread his thoughts and laughed at him, yes, loving him or not, she mustbe laughing at him. He laughed himself, then listened for the chancesound of her distant voice. He could hear footsteps on the cobbled yard, the clattering of a pail, the shrill stave of a song uttered by themaid-servant, but no more; and he paced on until the lights in BrentFarm went out and his own home was darkened. 

In the grey of the morning, he went down the track. Mists were lying onthe moor; above them, trees showed like things afloat, and when hecrossed the road he felt that he was breasting silent floods. Throughhis thick boots he could feel the cold of ground soaked by a night ofunexpected rain, and against his gaiters the long grasses rid themselvesof their loads of drops and swung back to their places as he passed. Heturned at the sound of footsteps on the road and saw one of Halkett'smen walking through that semblance of grey water. The man gave a nod ofgreeting, John raised a hand, and the peace of the waking day was notshattered by human speech. 

In the corner of the meadow near the house, the cows, looming large andmysterious and unfamiliar, were waiting with hanging heads, and Johnstood and looked at them in a kind of dream before he fetched his pailand stool and settled down to work. His hands were not steady and thecow was restless at his touch, and when he spoke to her the sound of hisown voice startled him, for the world was leagued with silence and eventhe hissing of the milk into the pail had the extravagance of a cascade. 

As he worked, he watched the house. No smoke came from its chimneys, butat length he heard the opening of a door and Lily Brent appeared. Hethought she was like the morning, fresh and young, with all the promiseand danger of a new day, and while he looked at her his hands droppedidle. She stood on the step and nodded to him before she walked acrossthe grass. 

"You here alone?" she said, and there was a fine frown on her brow. "Where's the rest of them? If I don't rout them out myself--"

"Don't, " he said. "It's early, and it's Sunday morning. They'll comesoon enough. " He stood up and rested his folded arms on the cow's backand looked at Lily. 

"She'll have the pail over, " she warned him quickly. 

He put it out of danger and returned. 

"You haven't fetched my stool, " she said. 

"I forgot it. Wait a bit. I'll get it soon. "

"What's the matter with you this morning? We're wasting time. "

"Let's waste time, " he said. He looked round at the mists floating offthe moor. The light was clearing; the cows had dwindled; the road was nolonger a fairy flood but a highway for the feet of men. 

"I want you to pretend it's yesterday, " he said. 

"What's the matter with you, John?"

"I'm going to tell you. Will you pretend it's yesterday?"

"Yes. It's Saturday morning, a busy day for us. We ought to get towork. "

"Come a step nearer, " he said, and she obeyed. 

He clutched the hair on the cow's back and spoke in a harsh voice. "Willyou marry me?" he said, frowning and looking her in the eyes. "I'vehardly any money, but I love you. I want you. I didn't know what to do. If I'd waited till I had as much as you, I might have lost you. I didn'tknow what to do, but I thought I'd tell you. "

"You needn't explain any more, " she said. Her hands, too, fell on thecow's back, and with a little movement she bade him take them. Hegathered her fingers into his and turned and twisted them. 

"I thought--if you wanted me--why should we live on opposite sides ofthe way? I can help you--and I love you. " He relied on that. 

"I love you, " he said again. 

He heard her ask softly, "Why?"

"Because--because--oh, you're all I want. You're like the earth, likeherbs, like fresh green grass. I've got your hands: give me the rest ofyou!"

Her eyes flashed open, he saw and heard her laugh, and their lips metacross the bulky barrier. 

"But I want you in my arms, " he said, and in the clearing light he heldher there, though the sound of an opening window told them that the farmwas waking. 

CHAPTER XIV

On the night of Mildred Caniper's return, Helen felt that the house hadchanged. A new emotion was mingling with the rest, and it was asunmistakable as a scent, and like a scent, it would grow fainter, butnow it hung in every room and on the stairs. Surely Mr. Pinderwell mustbe disturbed by it. She fancied his grey old face puckered inbewilderment and his steps going faster up and down the stairs. Helen, too, was restless, and having slept uneasily, she woke in the dark ofthe night. 

Outside her widely-opened windows the poplars were moving gently. Theyseemed near enough to touch, but she found something formidable in theiraspect. Black, tall and bare, they watched her to the accompaniment oftheir indifferent whispering and swaying, and they warned her thatwhatever might be her lot, theirs would continue to be this one of loftyswinging. So, aware of all that happened they had always watched andwhispered, and only tonight was she resentful in her love for them. Could they not feel a little sorrow for the woman burdened with troublewho had come back to the house? Had not the sense of that trouble stolenthrough the doors and windows? Beyond the garden walls there was, sheknew, immunity from human pain. The moor understood it and thereforeremained unmoved. It was the winds that grieved, the grey clouds thatmourned and the sunshine that exulted; under all these, and changed onlyon the surface, the moor spread itself tranquilly, but the poplars weredifferent. For Helen, all trees were people in another shape and shecould not remember a time when these had not been her friends, but nowthey seemed not to care, and she started up in the sudden suspicion thatnothing cared, that perhaps the great world of earth and sky andgrowing things had lives as absorbing and more selfish than her own. 

"But only perhaps, " she said aloud, asserting her faith in what sheloved. 

She pushed the pillow behind her back and stared into the clearingdarkness of Jane's large bare room. The curved front of her elegantdressing-table with its oval mirror became distinct. Helen's clothes laylike a patch of moonlight on a chair, the tallboy and the little stoolby which she reached the topmost drawers changed from their semblancesof beasts to sedate and beautiful furniture. By the bedside, softslippers waited with an invitation, and into them Helen soon slipped herfeet, for it seemed to her that the trouble thickened with each minuteand that Notya must be in need of help. 

Yet, when she had noiselessly opened the door of the room opposite, shefound Mildred Caniper sleeping in her narrow bed with the steadiness ofcomplete fatigue, with something, too, touchingly childlike in her pose. She might have been a child who had cried bitterly for hours before sheat last found rest, but Notya's grief, Helen divined, had not thesimplicity which allowed of tears nor the beauty which was Mr. Pinderwell's consolation. It was not death which had hurt her. 

Mildred Caniper's head had slid from the pillow and lay on heroutstretched arm; the other arm, slender and round as youth, was thrownoutside the bed-clothes, and only when Helen bent quite low could shesee the frown of trouble between the brows. Then, feeling like a spy, she returned to the darkness of the landing where Phoebe and Jane andChristopher were wondering what she did. 

She might have been a mother who, waking from a bad dream, goes aboutthe house to see that all is safe: she wished she could go into eachroom to make sure that its occupant was there, but such kindnesses hadnever been encouraged in a family trained to restraint; moreover, Miriammight wake in fright, Rupert was a light sleeper and John had anuncertain temper. There was nothing to do but to go back to bed, and shedid not want to do that. She could not sleep, and she would rather stayon the landing with the Pinderwells, so she leaned against the wall andfolded her arms across her breast. She wanted to be allowed to care forpeople practically and she wished her brothers and sister were smallenough to be held in the arms which had to be contented with herself. She had, she complained silently to the Pinderwells, to pretend not tocare for the others very much, lest she should weary them. But she hadher secret visions of a large house with unencumbered shining floors onwhich children could slide, with a broad staircase down which they wouldcome heavily, holding to the rails and bringing both feet to each stair. She lived there with them happily, not thwarted by moods and pastmiseries, and though she had not yet seen the father of those childrenabout the house, tonight, as she stood in the covering darkness, shethought she heard his footsteps in the garden where the children playedamong the trees. 

She moved abruptly, slipped, and sat down with a thud. Her laughter, like a ghost's, trickled through the stillness, and even while shelaughed a door was opened and John appeared, holding a lighted candle inhis hand. 

"It's only me, " Helen said. 

"What the devil are you up to?"

"I'm not up to anything. I'm on the floor. "

"Ill?"

"No. "

"I thought I heard some one prowling about. "

"Couldn't you sleep either?"

He put his fingers through his hair. "No, I couldn't sleep. "

"The house is full of--something, isn't it?"

"Fools, I think, " he answered, laughing a little. "Look here, youmustn't sit there. It's cold. Get up. "

"Help me. "

"Why didn't you put on your dressing-gown?"

"You didn't. "

"I don't wear this flimsy rubbish. Go back to bed. "

"Yes. What's the time?"

"One o'clock. The longest night I've ever known!"

Rather wistfully she looked at him. "What's the matter, John?"

"I'm waiting for tomorrow, " he said almost roughly. 

"So am I, " she said, surprising herself so that she repeated the wordsslowly, to know their meaning. "So am I--and it's here. "

"Not till the dawn, " he said. "Go to sleep. "

Together their doors were softly closed and Helen knew now whosefootsteps were in the children's garden. She went to the window andnodded to the poplars. "And you knew, I suppose; but so did I, really, all the time. "

She slept profoundly and woke to a new wonder for the possibilities oflife, a new fear for the dangers which might assail those who had muchto cherish; and now she descried dimly the truth she was one day to seein the full light, that there is no gain without loss and no losswithout gain, that things are divinely balanced, though man maysometimes throw his clumsy weight into the scale. Yet under theseserious thoughts there was a song in her heart and her pleasure in itsmusic shone out of her eyes so brilliantly that Rupert, watching herwith tolerant amusement, asked what had befallen her. 

"It's only that it's Sunday, " the quick-witted Miriam said and Helenreplied with the gravity which was more misleading than a lie: "Yes, that's all. "

Nevertheless, when Zebedee arrived on the moor, her brightness faded. Already the desire of possession hurt her and Miriam had attachedherself to him as though she owned him. She was telling him about PhilipCaniper's death, about the money which was to come to them, andasserting that Daniel now wanted to marry her more than ever. Daniel wasprotesting through his blushes, and Zebedee was laughing. It all seemedvery foolish, and she was annoyed with Zebedee for even pretending to beamused. 

"Oh, don't, " she murmured and lay back. 

"Be quiet, prig!"

"She's not that, is she?" Zebedee asked, his strangely flecked eyestwinkling. 

"Oh, a bad one. She disapproves of everything she doesn't like herself. "

"Helen, wake up! I want to know if this is true. "

"Do you think it is?"

"I'm afraid it's very likely. "

"Oh, dear!" she sighed, "I don't know what to do about it. A personwithout opinions is just nothing, and you really were being very sillyjust now. I hate jokes about marrying. "

"H'm, they are rather feeble, " Zebedee owned. 

"Vulgar, I think, " she said, with her little air of Mildred Caniper. 

"Ah, " said Rupert, tapping Daniel lightly on the head, "a man with abrain like this can't develop a taste for the real thing. I've seen himshaking over jokes that made me want to cry, but you mustn't expect toomuch of him. He does very well. Come along, my boy, and let's have somereasonable talk. "

"He doesn't want to go!" Miriam cried. 

"But he must. I know what's good for him. "

"He looks just like an overgrown dancing bear, " Miriam said as shewatched the two figures stepping across the moor. 

Helen continued her own gloomy thoughts. "No one can like a prig. "

"Oh, yes, " Zebedee assured her cheerfully, "I can. Besides, you'll growout of it. "

"She never will! She's getting worse, and it's with living here. As adoctor, I think you might prescribe a change for her--for all of us. What will become of us? I can't, " she added bitterly, "be expected tomarry a dancing bear!"

"If you're speaking of Daniel--" Zebedee began sharply. 

"Oh, don't you be cross, too! I did think I had one friend!"

"Daniel's a good man. He may be queer to look at, but he's sound. Youonly hurt yourself, you know, when you speak like that. "

Miriam pouted and was silent, and Helen was not sure whether to be angrywith Zebedee for speaking thus to her who must be spoiled, or glad thathe could do it to one so beautiful, while he could preserve friendlinessfor a prig. But her life-long loyalty refused this incipient rivalry;once more she decided that Miriam must have what she wanted, and she laywith clenched hands and a tranquil brow while she listened to thechatter which proclaimed Miriam's recovery. 

Helen could see nothing but a sky which was colourless and unclouded, and she wished she could be like that--vague, immaterial, without form. Perhaps to reach that state was happiness; it might be negation, but itwould be peace and she had a young, desperate wish to die and escape thealternations of joy and pain. "And yet this is nothing, " she said withforesight, and she stood up. "I'm going home. "

"No!" Zebedee exclaimed in the middle of one of Miriam's sentences. 

"I must. Notya's all alone. Good-night. "

He would not say the word, and he walked beside her. "But I'm yourguest, " he reminded her. 

"I know. But you see, she's lonely. "

"And I've been lonely all my life. "

She caught her breath. "Have you?" Her hands moved against her skirt andshe looked uneasily about her. "Have you?" She was pulled two ways, andwith a feeling of escape, she found an answer for him. "But you are you. You're not like her. You're strong. You can manage without any one. "

"I've had to. "

"Oh, " she moaned, "don't make me feel unhappy about going. "

"I wouldn't have you unhappy about anything. "

"You're a wonderful friend to me. Good-night. "

He watched her move away, but when she had gone a few paces she ranback. 

"It wasn't quite the truth, " she said. "It was only partly Notya. "

"You're not angry with me?"

"With you? I couldn't be. It was just my silly self, only I didn't wantto be half truthful with you. "

Their hands touched and parted, and he waited until she was out of sightbefore he went back to Miriam. 

"You're a little pest, " he said, "wasting my time--"

"Ha, ha! I knew. I won't waste any more of it. Wasn't it horrid of me?If you hadn't scolded me I might have been kind; but I always, alwayspay people out. "

"Silly thing to do, " he muttered, and went off. 

Miriam chuckled under her whistling as she strolled across the moor. She did not whistle a tune, but uttered sweet, plaintive notes like abird's call, and as she reached the stream a tall figure rose up fromthe darkness of the ground. 

"Oh, are you here, George?" she said. "I'm glad. I'm sick ofeverything. "

"H'm. I'm glad I'm useful. Are the others having their usualprayer-meeting?"

"What do you mean?"

"That Mackenzie of yours and your brother, sitting in the dip andtalking. I can't think what on earth they find to say. "

"Well, you see, George, they are very clever people. Let us sit down. You can't--I mean you and I can't appreciate them properly. "

"The Mackenzie looks a fool. "

"He is a great friend of mine. You must not be rude. Manners makyth man. According to that, you are not always a man when you're with me. "

He breathed deeply. "There's something about you--"

"Now you're blaming me, and that's not gallant. "

"You think I'm not fit to breathe the same air with you, don't you?"

"Yes, sometimes. " She sat hugging her knees and swaying to and fro, andwith each forward movement her face neared his. "But at others you arequite presentable. Last night you were charming to me, George. "

"I can be what I choose. D'you know that I had the same education asyour brothers?"

"You're always saying that. But you forget that you didn't have me for asister. "

"No, thank God. "

"Now--!"

"That's a compliment. "

"Oh! And, George, " she peered at him and dared herself to say thewords, though old Halkett's ghost might be lurking among the trees: "Idon't think your father can have been a ve-ry good influence on a wildyoung man like you. "

"The old man's dead. Leave it at that. And who says I'm wild?"

"Aren't you? Don't disappoint me. "

"I'm all right, " he said with admirable simplicity, "if I don't drink. "

"Then you mustn't, and yet I love to think that you're a bold, bad man. "

His eyes, which rarely widened, did so now, and in the gathering duskshe saw a flash of light. 

"You see, it makes me feel so brave, George. "

"It ought to. "

There was danger in his presence and she liked invoking it; but therewas a certain coarseness, also invoked by her, from which she shrank, towards which she crept, step by step, again. She made no answer to hiswords. In her black dress and against the darkness of the wood, she washardly more than a face and two small hands. There was a gentle movementamong the trees; they were singing their welcome of a peaceful night;the running of the stream came loudly, giving itself courage for theplunge into the wood. 

Miriam spoke in a low voice. "It's getting late. The others must havegone in. They'll wonder where I am. "

"And they'd be horrified, I suppose, if they knew. "

She bent towards him so that he might see her reproachful face. 

"You've spoilt this lovely night. You don't match the sky and stars. Iwish I hadn't met you. "

"You needn't have done, " he said. 

"Are you sorry I did?" she challenged him. 

"Oh, I don't know, " he muttered almost to himself. "That's it. I neverknow. "

She choked down the lilt of triumph in her voice. "I'll leave you tothink, about it, " she said and, looking at the high fir-wood, she added, "But I thought we were going to be such friends, after all. "

Halkett stood up, and he said nothing, for his feelings were not to beput into words he could say to her. In her presence he suffered amingling of pain and pleasure, anger and delight; cruelty strove in himwith gentleness, coarseness with courtesy; he wanted to kiss her roughlyand cast her off, yet he would have been grateful for the chance ofserving her. 

"George, " she said quietly. 

"Yes?"

"When you think of life, what do you see?"

"I--don't know. "

"But you must. "

He compelled his imagination. "The moor, and the farm, and the folks inthe town, standing on the pavement, and Oxford Street in London--andParis. "

"Have you been to Paris?"

"I couldn't think about it if I hadn't. "

She gave the laugh which coolly put him from her. "Couldn't you? PoorGeorge!" She balanced from her heels to her toes and back again, withsteadying movements of her arms, so that she was like a bird refusing totake flight. "I don't see things plainly like that, " she murmured. "It'slike a black ball going round and round with sparks inside, and me; andthe blackness and the sparks are feelings and thoughts, and things thathave happened and are going to happen, all mixing themselves up with theme in the middle. George, do you feel how strange it is? I can'texplain, but here we are on the moor, with the sky above us, and theearth underneath--and why? But I'm really rolling over and over in theblack ball, and I can't stop and I can't go on. I'm just inside. "

"I know, " he said. "It's all mixed. It's--" He kicked a heather-bush. "You want a thing and you don't want it--I don't know. "

"I always know what I want, " she said, and into her thoughtfulness therecrept the personal taint. "I want every one to adore me. Good-night, George. I wonder if we shall ever meet again!"

In the garden, with her hands folded on her knee, Helen was sittingmeekly on a stool under the poplars and watching the swaying of thetree-tops. 

"The young nun at prayer, " Miriam said. "I thought you came back to bewith Notya. "

"She seemed not to want me. "

"Then you sacrificed me for nothing. That's just like you. "

"How?"

"By throwing me into the alluring company of that young man. If I lovehim and he doesn't love me, well, you've blighted my life. And if heloves me and I don't love him--"

"You are always talking about love, " Helen said with an accent ofdistaste. 

"I know it's not the sort of thing a young virgin should be interestedin; but after all, what else can be so interesting to the Y. V. ?"

"But you spoil it. "

"I don't. Do you mind if I put my head on your knee? No, I'm notcomfortable. That's better. It's you who spoil it with being sentimentaland one-love-one-life-ish. Now for me it's a game that nymphs andgoddesses might play at. "

"But you can't play it alone, " said Helen, troubled. 

"No, that's the fun of it. " She smiled against Helen's dress. "I wonderif my young man is at home yet. And there's only a cold supper for him!Dear, dear, dear!"

With her apparent obtuseness, Helen said, "It won't matter so much inthe summertime. "

"Ah, that's a comfort, " Miriam said, and rolled her head luxuriously. 

John came through the French window. 

"I've been looking for you both, " he said. "I want to tell yousomething. "

"Now it's coming, " Miriam muttered. 

"Sit down, then, " Helen said. "We can't see you so high up. "

"What! in my best clothes? All right. " The light was dim, but they feltthe joviality that hung about him and saw his teeth exposed in a smilehe could not subdue. "The ground's damp, you know. There's a heavy dew. "

There was a silence through which the poplars whispered in excitement. 

"Perhaps I am a little deaf, " Miriam said politely, "but I haven't heardyou telling us anything. "

"Yes; he said the ground was damp. "

"So he did! Come along, we'll go in. "

"No, don't!" he begged. "I know I'm not getting on very fast, but thefact is--I can't bear women to be called after flowers. If it weren'tfor that I should have told you long ago. And hers is one of the worst, "he added sadly. 

Miriam and Helen shook each other with their silent laughter. 

"You can call her something else, " Helen said. 

"Mrs. C. Would be a jaunty way of addressing her. "

"Well, anyway, she's going to marry me, bless her heart. Get up! Notyawants to know why supper isn't ready. " He did a clumsy caper on thegrass. "Who's glad?"

"I am, " Helen said. 

"When?" Miriam asked. 

"Soon. "

"What did Notya say?" was Helen's question. 

"Nothing worth repeating. Don't talk of that. "

"Well, " Miriam remarked, "it will be a very interesting affair towatch. "

"Confound your impudence!"

"You're sure to have heaps of children, " she warned him. 

"Hope so. "

"You'll forget how many there are, and mix them up with the dogs and thecats and the geese. They'll be very dirty. "

"And perfectly happy. "

"Oh, yes. Now Helen's will always be clean little prigs who couldn't benaughty if they tried. I shall like yours best, John, though they won'tbe clean enough to kiss. "

"Shut up!" he said. 

"I shall be a lovely aunt. I shall come from London Town with acornucopia of presents. We're beginning to go, " she went on. "FirstJohn, and then me, as soon as I am twenty-one. "

"But Rupert will be here, " Helen said quickly. 

"He'll marry, too, and you'll be left with Notya. Somebody will have tolook after her old age. And as you've always been so fond of her--!"

"There would be the moor, " Helen said, answering all her unspokenthoughts. 

"It wouldn't comfort me!"

"Don't worry, my dear, " John said kindly; "the gods are surely tenderwith the good. "

"But she won't grow old, " Helen said earnestly. "I don't believe shecould grow old. It would be terrible. " And it was of Mildred Caniper andnot of herself she thought. 

CHAPTER XV

Mildred Caniper was wearing her deaf expression when they went into thehouse, and getting supper ready as a form of reproof. John was anotherof her failures. He had chosen work she despised for him, and now, though it was impossible to despise Lily Brent, it was impossible not todisapprove of such a marriage for a Caniper. But when she was helpless, Mrs. Caniper had learnt to preserve her pride in suavity, and as theysat down to supper she remarked that she would call on Lily Brenttomorrow. 

"How funny!" Helen said at once. 

Miriam darted a look meant to warn Helen that Notya was in no mood forcontroversy, and John frowned in readiness to take offence. 

"Why funny?" he growled. 

"I was just wondering if Notya would put on a hat and gloves to do it. "She turned to Mildred Caniper. "Will you?"

"I'm afraid I have not considered such a detail. "

"None of us, " Helen went on blandly, "has ever put on a hat to go to thefarm. I should hate any of us to do it. Notya, you can't. "

"You forget, " Mildred Caniper said in her coldest tones, "that I havenot been accustomed to going there. "

"Well, do notice Lily's primroses, " Helen said pleasantly. "They're likesunshine, and she's like--"

"No, please, " John begged. 

"I wonder why Rupert has not come to supper, " Mildred Caniper said, changing the subject, and Helen wondered pityingly why one who had knownunhappiness should not be eager to spare others. 

"But, " Miriam began, her interest overcoming dread of her stepmother'sprejudices, "we shall have to wear hats for John's wedding. I shallhave a new one and a new dress, a dusky blue, I think, with a sheen onit. "

"Did you mention my wedding?" John asked politely. 

"Yes. And a peacock's feather in my hat. No, that's unlucky, but sobeautiful. "

"Nothing beautiful, " Helen said, "can be unlucky. "

"I wouldn't risk it. But what can I have?"

"For my wedding, " John announced, "you'll have nothing, unless you wantto sit alone in the garden in your new clothes. You're not going to bepresent at the ceremony. Good Lord! I'll have Rupert and Daniel forwitnesses, and we'll come home in time to do the milking, but there'llbe no show. It would make me sick. "

"Not even a party?"

"What the--what on earth should we have a party for?"

"For fun, of course. Daniel and Zebedee and us. " She leaned towards him. "And George, John, just to show that all's forgiven!" To see if she haddared too much, she cast a glance at Mildred Caniper, but that lady satin the stillness of determined indifference. 

"Not one of you!" John said. "It's our wedding, and we're going to dowhat we like with it. "

"But when you're going to be happy--as I suppose you think you are--youought to let other people join in. Here's a chance of a little fun--"

"There's nothing funny about being married, " Helen said in her deeptones. 

"Depends who--whom--you're marrying, doesn't it?" Miriam asked, andlooking at Mildred Caniper once more, she found that she need not beafraid, for though the expression was the same, its effect wasdifferent. Notya looked as though she could not rouse her energies toactive disapproval; as though she would never say her rare, amusingthings again, and Miriam was reminded of the turnip lanterns they hadmade in their youth--hollowness and flickering light within. 

The succeeding days encouraged that reminder, for something had gonefrom Mildred Caniper and left her stubbornly frail in mind and body. Rupert believed that hope had died in her but the Canipers did not speakof the change which was plain to all of them. She was a presence offlesh and blood, and she would always be a presence, for she had thatpower, but she approached Mr. Pinderwell in their thoughts, and theybegan to use towards her the kind of tenderness they felt for him. Sometimes she became aware of it and let out an irony with a sharpnesswhich sent Helen about the house more gaily and persuaded her that Notyawould be better when summer came, for surely no one could resist thesun. 

John's soft heart forgave his stepmother's coldness towards his marriageand his bride, and prompted him to a generous suggestion. He made itshyly and earnestly one night in the drawing-room where Mildred Canipersat under the picture of Mr. Pinderwell's lady. 

"Notya, " he began, "we want you to come to our wedding, too. Just youand Rupert and Daniel. Will you?"

She looked faintly amused, yet, the next moment, he had a fear that shewas going to cry. "Thank you, John. "

"We both want you, " he said awkwardly, and went nearer. 

"I'm glad you have asked me, but I won't come. I'm afraid I should onlyspoil it. I do spoil things. " She smiled at him and looked at the handson her knee. "It seems to me that that's what I do best. "

He did not know what to say and, having made inarticulate noises in histhroat, he went quickly to the schoolroom. 

"Go to Notya, some one, and make her angry. She's being miserable in thedrawing-room. Tell her you've broken something!"

"I won't, " Miriam said. "I've had too much of that, and I'm going toenjoy the unwonted peace. You go, Helen. "

"Leave her alone, " Rupert advised. "You won't cure Notya's unhappinessso easily as that. "

"When the summer comes--" Helen began, cheerfully deceiving herself, andJohn interrupted. 

"Summer is here already. It's June next week. "

He was married in his own way on the first day of that month, and Miriamuttered no more regrets. She was comparatively contented with thepresent. Mildred Caniper seldom thwarted her, and she knew that everyday George Halkett rode or walked where he might see her, and her memoryof that splendid summer was to be one of sunlight blotted with theshapes of man and horse moving across the moor. George was not alwayssuccessful in his search, for she knew that he would pall as a dailydish, but on Sundays if Daniel would not be beguiled, and if it was notworth while to tease Helen through Zebedee, she seldom failed to makeher light secret way to the larch-wood where he waited. 

Her excitement, when she felt any, was only sexual because the dangershe sought and the power she wielded were of that kind, and she waschiefly conscious of light-hearted enjoyment and the new experience ofan understanding with the moor. Secrecy quickened her perceptions andshe found that nature deliberately helped her, but whether for its ownpurposes or hers she could not tell. The earth which had once been herenemy now seemed to be her friend, and where she had seen monotony shediscovered delicate differences of hour and mood. If she needed shelter, the hollows deepened themselves at her approach, shadows grew darker andthe moor lifted itself to hide her. She seemed to take a friend on allher journeys, but she was not quite happy in its company. It was asilent, scheming friend and she was not sure of it; there were timeswhen she suspected laughter at which she would grow defiant and then, pretending that she went openly in search of pleasure, she sang andwhistled loudly on her way. 

There was an evening when that sound was answered by the noise of hoofsbehind her, the music of a chinking bridle, the creaking of leather andthe hard breathing of a horse. She did not turn as George drew reinbeside her and said "Good-evening, " in his half sulky tones. She had herhands behind her back and she looked at the sky. 

"'Sunset and evening star, '" she said solemnly, "'and one clear call forme. ' Do you know those beautiful words, George?"

He did not answer. She could hear him fidgeting with whip and reins, butshe gazed upward still. 

"I'm sorry I can't recite the rest. I have forgotten it, but if you willpromise to read it, I'll lend you a copy. On Sunday evenings you oughtto sit at home and improve your mind. "

He gave a laugh like a cough. "I don't care about my mind, " he said, andhe touched the horse with his heel so that she had to move aside. He sawwarm anger chase the pious expression from her face. 

"Ah!" she cried, "that is the kind of thing you do! You're rough! Youmake me hate you! Why!" her voice fell from its height, "that's a newhorse!" Her hands were busy on neck and nose. "I like him. What is hecalled?"

Halkett was looking at her with an eagerness through which her wordscould hardly pierce. She was wonderful to watch, soft as a kitten, swiftas a bird. 

"What do you call him, George?" she said again, and tapped his boot. 

"'Charlie'--this one. "

She laughed. "You choose dull names. Is he as wicked as Daisy?"

"Nothing like. "

"Why did you get him, then?"

"I want him for hard work. "

"I believe you're lazy. If you don't walk you'll get fat. You're thekind of man that does. "

"Perhaps, but that's a long way off. Riding is hard work enough and myfather was a fine man up to sixty. "

A thin shock of fear ran through her at the remembrance of old Halkett'sruined shape. "I was always frightened of him, " she said in a smallvoice, and she looked at George as though she asked for reassurance. There was a cold grey light on the moor; darkness was not far off and itheld a chill wind in leash. 

"Do you wish he wasn't dead?" she whispered. 

He lifted his shoulders and pursed his mouth. "No, " he said. 

"Are you lonely in that house?"

"There's Mrs. Biggs, you know, " he said with a sneer. 

"Yes, I know, " she murmured doubtfully, and drew closer. 

"So you don't think she's enough for me?"

"Of course I don't. That's why I'm so kind to you. She couldn't belistening to us, could she? Everything seems to be listening. "

"So you're kind to me, are you?"

"Yes, " she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding her head, until shelooked like a dark poppy in a wind. 

"And when I saw you on the road the other day you wouldn't look at me. That's the second time. "

"I did. "

"As if I'd been a sheep. "

"Oh!" Laughter bubbled in her. "You did look rather like one. I wasoccupied in thinking deeply, seriously, intently--"

"That's no excuse. "

"My good George, I shouldn't think of excusing myself to you. I chose toignore you and I shall probably ignore you again. "

"Two can play at that game. "

"Well, dear me, I shan't mind. "

He bent in the saddle, and she did not like the polished whiteness ofhis eyeballs. His voice was very low and heavy. "You think you can go onmaking a mock of me for ever. "

She started back. "No, George, no. "

"You do, by God!" He lifted his whip to shake it in the face of heaven. 

"Oh, don't, George, please! I can't stay"--she crept nearer--"if you goon like that. What have I done? It's you who treat me badly. Won't yoube nice? Tell me about something. " She put her face against the horse'sneck. "Tell me about riding. It must be beautiful in the dark. Isn't itdangerous? Dare you gallop?"

"Well, we do. "

"Such lots of rabbit-holes. "

"What does it matter?"

"Oh, dear, you're very cross. "

"I can't help it, " he said like an unhappy child. "I can't help it. " Andhe put his hand to his head with an uncertain movement. 

"Oh. " With a practical air she sought for an impersonal topic. "Tell meabout Paris. "

"Paris. " There was no need for him to speak above a murmur. "I want totake you there. "

"Do you?"

He leant lower. "Will you come?"

Her eyes moved under his, but they did not turn aside. "I think I'mgoing there with some one else, " she said softly, and before her visionof this eager lover there popped a spruce picture of Uncle Alfred. 

"That isn't true, " Halkett said, but despair was in his voice. 

She was angered instantly. "I beg your pardon?"

"It isn't true, " he said again. 

"Very well, " she said, and she began to walk away, but he called afterher vehemently, bitterly, "Because I won't let you go!"

She laughed at that and came back to her place, to say indulgently, "Howsilly you are! I'm only going with an aged uncle!"

"But he's not the man to take you there. "

"No. "

"Come with me now. "

"Shall I?"

"Get up beside me and I'll carry you away. "

She was held by his trouble, but she spoke lightly. "Could he swim withus both across the Channel? No, I don't think I want to come tonight. Some day--"

"When?"

"Oh, " she said on a high note, "perhaps when I'm very tired of things. "

"You're tired already. "

"Not so much as that. And we're talking nonsense, and I must go. "

"Not yet. "

"I must. It's nearly time for bed, and I'm not sure that it's polite ofyou to sit on that horse while I stand here. "

"Come up and you'll see how well he goes. "

"He wouldn't bear us both. "

"Pooh! You're a feather. "

"Oh, I couldn't. Wouldn't he jump?"

"He'd better try!"

"Now, don't be cruel to him. "

"What do you know about it? I've ridden since I could walk. "

"Lucky you!"

"I'll teach you. "

"Could you?"

"Give me a chance. "

"Here's one! No, no, I didn't mean it, " she cried as he dismounted andlifted her to the saddle. "Oh, I feel so high up. Don't move him till Iget used to it. I'm not safe on this saddle. Put me a little further on, George. That's further forward! I'm nearly on his neck. No, I don'tthink I like it. Take me down. "

"Keep still. " The words were almost threatening in the gloom. "Sitsteady. I'm coming up. "

"No, don't. I shall fall off!"

But already he was behind her, holding her closely with one arm. "There!He's quiet enough. I couldn't do this with Daisy. And he's sure-footed. He was bred on the moor. " He set the horse trotting gently. "He goeswell, doesn't he?"

"Yes. "

"Don't you like it?"

"Ye-es. "

"What's the matter?"

"There isn't room enough, " she said, and moved her shoulders. 

He spoke in her ear. "If I don't hold you, you'll fall off. Here's asmooth bit coming. Now, lad, show us what you can do and remember whatyou're carrying!"

The saddle creaked and the bit jangled and George's arm tightened roundher. Though she did not like his nearness, she leaned closer for safety, and he and the horse seemed to be one animal, strong and swift andmerciless. Once or twice she gasped, "Please, George, not quite sofast, " but the centaur paid no heed. She shut her eyes because she didnot like to see the darkness sliding under them as they passed, and theyseemed to be galloping into a blackness that was empty and unending. Herhands clutched the arm that fenced her breasts: her breath came quickly, exhilaration was mixed with fear, and now she was part of the joint bodythat carried her and held her. 

She hardly knew when the pace had slackened; she was benumbed with newsensations, darkness, speed and strength. She had forgotten that thiswas a man she leaned against. Then the horse stood still and she feltHalkett's face near hers, his breath on her cheeks, a new pressure ofhis arm and, unable to endure this different nearness, she gave hisbinding hand a sharp blow with her knuckles, jerked her head backwardsagainst his and escaped his grasp; but she had to fall to do it, andfrom the ground she heard his chuckle as he looked down at her. 

At that moment she would have killed him gladly; she felt her bodysoiled by his, but her mind was curiously untouched. It knew no disgustfor his desire nor for her folly, and while she hated him for sittingthere and laughing at her fall, this was still a game she loved andmeant to play. In the heather she sat and glowered at him, but now shecould hardly see his face. 

"That was a silly thing to do, " she heard him say. "You might easilyhave been kicked. What did you do it for?"

She would not own her knowledge of his real offence, and she mutteredangrily, "Galloping like that--"

"Didn't you like it? He's as steady as a rock. "

"How could I know that?"

"And I thought you had some pluck. "

"I have. I sat quite still. "

Again he laughed. "I made you. "

"Oh, " she burst out. "I'll never trust you again. "

"You would if you knew--if you knew--but never mind. I wanted to see youon a horse. You shall have him to yourself next time. I'll get a sidesaddle. "

"I don't want one, " she said. 

"Oh, yes, you do. Let me help you up. Say you forgive me. "

With her hand in his she murmured, "But you are always doing something. And my head aches. "

"Does it? I'm sorry. What made it ache?"

"It--I--I bumped myself when I fell. "

"Poor little head! It was silly of you, wasn't it? Let me put you on hisback again, and I'll walk you slowly home. "

He was faithful to his word, letting her go without a pressure of thehand, and she crept into the house with the uneasy conviction that Helenwas right, that George wanted the chance he had never had, and her ownresponsibility was black over her bed as she tried to sleep. Turningfrom side to side and at last sitting up with a jerk, she decided toevade responsibility by evading George, and with that resolution sheheaved a deep sigh at the prospect of her young life despoiled by duty. 

CHAPTER XVI

Zebedee had the lover's gift of finding time which did not exist forother men, and there were few Sundays when he did not spend some minutesor some hours on the moor. There were blank days when Helen failed himbecause she thought Mildred Caniper was lonely, others when she ran outfor a word and swiftly left him to the memory of her grace and hertransforming smile; yet oftenest, she was waiting for him in the littlehollow of earth, and those hours were the best he had ever known. It wasgood to sit and see the sky slowly losing colour and watch the mothsflit out, and though neither he nor she was much given to speech, eachknew that the other was content. 

"Helen, " he said one night in late September when they were left alone, "I want to tell you something. "

She did not stir, and she answered slowly, softly, in the voice of onewho slept, "Tell it. "

"It's about beauty. I'd never seen it till you showed it to me. "

"Did I? When?"

"I'm not sure. That night--"

"On the moor?"

"Always on the moor! When you had the basket. It was the first timeafter I came back. "

"But you couldn't see me in the darkness. "

"Yes, a little. You remember you told me to light the lamps. And I couldhear you--your voice running with the wind--And then each day since. Iwant to thank you. "

"Oh--" She made a little sound of depreciation and happiness. 

"Those old Sundays--"

"Ah, yes! The shining pews and the painted stars. This is better. "

"Yes, this is better. Heather instead of the sticky pews--"

"And real stars, " she murmured. 

"And you for priestess. "

"No, I'm just a worshipper. "

"But you show the way. You give light to them that sit in darkness. "

"Ah, don't. " There was pain in her voice. "Don't give me things. Atleast, don't give me praise. I'm afraid of having things. "

"But why, my dear?" The words dropped away into the gathering dusk, andthey both listened to them as they went. 

"I'm afraid they will be taken away again. "

"Don't have that feeling. It will be hard on those who want to giveyou--much. "

"I hadn't thought of that, " she cried, and started up as though she wereglad to blame him. "And you never tell me anything. Why don't you? Whydon't you tell me about your work? I could have that. There would be noharm in that. "

"Harm? No. May I?"

"Why shouldn't you? They all tell me things. Don't you want somebody totalk to?"

"I want you, if you care to hear. "

"Oh, Zebedee, yes, " she said, and sank into her place. 

"Helen, " he said unsteadily, "I wish you would grow up, and yet, Helen, what a pity that you should change. "

She did not answer; she might have been asleep, and he sat in astillness born of his disturbance at her nearness, her pale smooth skin, her smooth brown hair, the young curves of her body. If he had moved, itwould have been to crush her beautiful, firm mouth, but her youth was achain wound round him, and though he was in bonds he seemed to be alivefor the first time. He and Helen were the sole realities. He could seeMiriam's figure, black against the sky as she stood or stooped to pick aflower, but she had no meaning for him, and the voices of the young men, not far off, might have been the droning of some late bee. The world wasa cup to hold him and this girl, and over that cup he had a feeling ofmastery and yet of helplessness, and all his past days dwindled to astreak of drab existence. Life had begun, and it went at such a pacethat he did not know how much of it was already spent when Helen sat up, and looking at him with drowsy eyes, asked, "What is happening?"

"There was magic abroad. The sun has been going down behind the moor, and night is coming on. I must be going home. "

"Don't go. Yes, it's getting dark. There will be stars soon. I love thenight. Don't go. How low the birds are flying. They are like big moths. The magic hasn't gone. "

Grey-gowned, grey-eyed, white-faced, he thought she was like a mothherself, fragile and impalpable in the gloom, a moth motionless on aflower, and when he saw her smile he thought the moth was making readyfor flight. 

"I want this to go on for ever, " she said. "The moor and the night andyou. You're such a friend--you and the Pinderwells. I don't know how Ishould live without you. "

"Do you know what you're saying to me?"

"I'm telling you I like you, and it's true. And you like me. It's socomfortable to know that. "

"Comfortable!"

"Isn't it?"

"Comfortable?" he said again. "Oh, my love--" He broke off, and lookingat each other, both fell dumb. 

He got to his feet and looked down with an expression which was strangeto her, for into that moment of avowal there had come a fleetingantagonism towards the woman who, in spite of all her gifts to him, hadtaken his possession of himself: yet through his shamed resentment, heknew that he adored her. 

"Zebedee, " she said in a broken voice. "Oh, isn't it a funny name!Zebedee, don't look at me like that. "

"How shall I look at you?" he asked, not clearly. 

"In the old way. But don't say things. " She sprang up. "Not tonight. "

"When?" he asked sternly. 

"I--don't know. Tonight I feel afraid. It's--too much. I shan't be ableto keep it, Zebedee. It's too good. And we can't get this for nothing. "

"I'm willing to pay for it. I want to pay for it, in the pain of partingfrom you now, in the work of all my days--" He stopped in hisrealization of how little he had to give. "I can't tell you, " he addedsimply. 

"Will it hurt you to leave me tonight?" she whispered. 

"Yes. "

She touched his sleeve. "I don't like you to be hurt, yet I like that. Will you come next Sunday?"

"Not if you're afraid. I can't come to see you if you won't let me saythings. "

"I'll try not to be afraid; only, only, say them very softly so thatnothing else can hear. "

He laughed and caught her hand and kissed it. "I shall do exactly what Ilike, " he said; but as he strode away without another word he knew fromsomething in the way she stood and looked at him, something of patienceand resolve, that their future was not in his hands alone. 

When he was out of sight and hearing, Helen moved stiffly, as though shewaked from a long sleep and was uncertain where she was. The familiarlight shone in the kitchen of Brent Farm, yet the house seemed unrealand remote, marooned in the high heather. The heather was thick and richthat year, and the flowers touched her hands. The smell of honey washeavy in the air, and thousands of small, pale moths made ahoney-coloured cloud between the purple moor and the night blue of thesky. If she strained her ears, Helen could hear the singing of Halkett'sstream and it said things she had not heard before. A sound of voicescame from the road and she knew that some faithful Christians of themoor were returning from their worship in the town: she remembered themcrude and ugly in their Sunday clothes, but they gathered mystery fromdistance and the night. Perhaps they came from that chapel where Zebedeehad spent his unhappy hours. She turned and her hands swept the heatherflowers. This was now his praying place, as it had always been hers, andwhen the Easter fires came again they would pray to them together. 

At the garden door her hand fell from the latch and she faced the moor. She lifted her arms and dropped them in a kind of pleading for mercyfrom those whom she had served faithfully; then she smoothed her faceand went into the house. 

In the drawing-room, Mildred Caniper was sitting on the sofa, and nearher John and Lily had disposed themselves like guests. 

Helen stopped in the doorway. "Then the light in your house meantnothing, " she said reproachfully. 

"What should it mean?" John asked. 

"Happiness and peace--somewhere, " she said. 

"It does mean that, " and turning to Lily, he asked, "Doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, but don't brag about it. "

They laughed together, and they sat with an alert tranquillity ofhealth which made Mildred Caniper look very small and frail. She waslistening courteously to the simple things John told her about animalsand crops and butter-sales, but Helen knew that she was almost too tiredto understand, and she felt trouble sweeping over her own happiness. 

To hide that trouble, she asked quickly, "Where are the others?" and aninvisible Rupert answered her. 

"You're the last in. " He sat outside the window, and as she approached, he added, "And I hope you have had a happy time. "

"Yes. " She looked back into the room. 

"Daniel wouldn't stay, " Rupert went on, smoking his pipe placidly. "Ifit hadn't been for my good offices, my dear, he'd have hauled Zebedeeoff long ago. He suddenly thought of a plan for getting rid of Eliza. Why aren't you thanking me?"

"He wouldn't have gone. "

"Oh, ho!"

"But they ought to get rid of Eliza. I've told Zebedee. "

"Quite right, " Rupert said solemnly. His dark eyes twinkled at theanswering stars. "When I have lunch with Daniel, I'm afraid of beingpoisoned, though she rather likes me, and she's offensively ugly--ugh!Yet I like to think that even Eliza has had her little story. Are youlistening, Helen? I'm being pastoral and kind. I'm going to tell you howEliza fell in love with a travelling tinker. "

"Is it true?"

"As true as anything else. "

"Go on. "

"It happened when Eliza was quite young, not beautiful, but fresh andruddy. She walked out one summer night to meet the farm hand who wascourting her, but he was not at the appointed place, so Eliza walkedon, and she had a sore heart because she thought her lover wasunfaithful. She was walking over high downs with hollows in them and thegrass cropped close by sheep, and there was a breeze blowing the smellof clover from some field, and suddenly she stood on the edge of ahollow in which a fire was burning, and by the fire there sat a man. Helooked big as he sat there, but when he stood up he was a giant, incorduroys, and a check cap over his black eyes. Picturesque beggar. Andthe farm hand had deserted her, and there was a smell of burning wood, and the sky was like a velvet curtain. What would you? Eliza did not gohome that night, nor the next, nor the next. She stayed with thetravelling tinker until he tired of her, and that was very soon. Forhim, she was no more than the fly that happened to get into his web, butfor Eliza, the tinker--the tinker was beauty and romance. The tinker waslife. And he sent her back to the ways of virtue permanently soured, yetproud. Thus, my dear young friend, we see--"

"Don't!" Helen cried. "You're making me sorry for Eliza. I don't want tobe sorry for her. And you're making me like the tinker. He's attractive. How horrid that he should be attractive. " She shuddered and shook herhead. "Your story is too full of firelight--and the night. I'll go andget supper ready. "

"Miriam's doing it. Stay here and I'll tell you some more. "

But she slipped past him and reached the kitchen from the garden. 

"Rupert has been telling me a story, " she said a little breathlessly toMiriam who was filling a tray with the noisy indifference of a carelessmaid-servant. 

"Hang the plates! Hang the dishes! What story?"

"It's rather wonderful, I think. It's about the Mackenzies' Eliza. "

"Then of course it's wonderful. And hang the knives and forks!" Shethrew them on the tray. 

"And there's a travelling tinker in it. " With her hands at her throat, she looked into the fire and Miriam looked at her. 

"I'll ask him to tell it to me, " she said, but very soon she returned tothe kitchen, grumbling. "What nonsense! It's not respectable, and itisn't even true. "

"It's as true as anything else, " Helen said. 

"Oh, you're mad. And so is Rupert. Let's have supper and go to bed. Whycan't we have a servant to do all this? Why don't we pay for oneourselves?"

"I don't want one. "

"But I do, and my hands are ruined. "

"Upstairs in Jane, " Helen said, "in the small right-hand drawer of mychest of drawers, there's the lotion--"

"It's not only my hands! It's my whole life! Your lotion isn't going tocure my life!" She sat on the edge of a chair and drooped there. 

"No, " Helen said. "But what's the matter with your life?"

Miriam flapped her hands. "I'm so tired of being good. I want--I want--"

Helen knelt beside her. "Is it Zebedee you want?" Her voice and her bodyshook with self-sacrifice and love and when Miriam's head dropped to hershoulder Helen was willing to give her all she had. 

"I'm not crying, " Miriam said, after an agitated pause. "I'm notovercome. I'm only laughing so much that I can't make a sound! Zebedee!Oh! No! That's very funny. " She straightened herself. "Helen dear, didyou think you'd discovered my little secret, my maidenly little secret?I only want Uncle Alfred to come and take me away. This is a dreadfulfamily to belong to, but there are humorous moments. It's almost worthwhile. John, here's Helen suggesting that I'm in love with Zebedee!"

"Well, why not?" he asked, but he was hardly thinking of what he said. "I've left Lily on guard in there. Notya has gone to sleep. "

"But she can't have, " Helen said. 

"She has, my child. "

"Are you sure she's not--are you sure she is asleep?"

"Like a baby. "

"Then we shall have to make a noise and wake her. She would neverforgive us if she found out that we knew, so tell Lily to come out andthen we must all burst in. "

CHAPTER XVII

Lily and John went down the track: Mildred Caniper climbed slowly, butwith dignity, up the stairs; Miriam was heard to bang her bedroom doorand Rupert and Helen were left together in the schoolroom. 

"I can't get the tinker out of my head, " she told him. 

"I must have done it very well. "

"Miriam didn't like it. She thought it silly. "

"So it is. "

"No, it's real, so real that he has been sitting in our hollow, " shecomplained. 

"That won't do. Turn him out. He doesn't belong to our moor. "

"No. I think I'll go for a walk and forget him. "

"I should, " he said, in his sympathetic way. "I won't go to bed till youcome back. " He pulled his chair nearer to the lamp, opened a book andcontentedly heard Helen leave the house, for though he was fond of herthere were times when her forebodings and her conscience becamewearisome. Let the moor be her confessor tonight!

Helen dropped into the darkness like a swimmer taking deep water quietlyand at once she was immersed in happiness. She forgot her stepmothersitting so stiffly on the sofa and for a little while she forgot thatthe future which held her and Zebedee in its embrace held a solitaryMildred Caniper less warmly. In the scented night, Helen allowed herselfto taste joy without misgiving. 

She walked slowly because she was hemmed in by feelings which wereblissful and undefined: she knew only that the world smelt sweeter thanit had ever done, that the stars shone with amazing brightness. Throughthe darkness she could see the splendid curves of the moor and theshapes of thorn bushes thick with leaves. The familiar friends of otherdays seemed to wait upon her happiness, but the stars laughed at her asthey had always done. She looked up and saw a host of them, clear anddistant, shining in a sky so blue and vast that to see it was likeflight. They were secure in their high places, and with the smilingbenignity of gods they assured her of her littleness, and gladly sheaccepted that assurance, for she shared her littleness with Zebedee, andnow she understood that her happiness was made of small great things, ofthe hope of caring for him, of keeping that shining house in order, ofcradling children in wide, airy rooms. She had a sudden desire to mendZebedee's clothes and put them neatly in their places, to feel thesmoothness of his freshly-laundered collars in her hand. 

She sat down in the heather and it was her turn to laugh up at the starswho could do none of these things and lived in isolated grandeur. Theearth was nearer to her finite mind. It was warm with the sunshine ofmany days and trodden by human, beloved feet; it offered up food anddrink and consolation. Darker than the sky, it had no colour but itsown, yet Helen sat among pale spikes of blossom. 

It was a night when even those beings who could not wander in thedaytime must be content to lie and listen to the silence, when evil mustrun from the face of beauty and hide itself in streets. All round her, Helen fancied shapes without substance, lying in worship of the nightwhich was their element, and when she rose from her bed at last shemoved with quietness lest she should disturb them. 

She had not gone far before she was aware that some one else was walkingon the moor. For a moment she thought it must be Rupert in search ofher, but Rupert would have called out, and this person, while herustled through the heather, let forth a low whistled note, and thoughhe went with care, it was for some purpose of his own and not forcourtesy towards the mystery of the night. 

She could not decide from what direction the sounds came; she stoppedand they stopped; then she heard the whistle again, but nearer now, andwith a sudden realization of loneliness and of the womanhood which hadseldom troubled her, she ran with all her strength and speed for home. 

Memories ran with her strangely, and brought back that day when she hadbeen hotly chased by Mrs. Brent's big bull, and she remembered how, through all his fears for her, Rupert had laughed as though he wouldnever stop. She laughed in recollection, but more in fear. The bull hadsnorted, his hoofs had thundered after her, as these feet werethundering now. 

"But this is the tinker, the tinker!" her mind cried in terror, andovercome by her quickened breathing, by some sense of the inevitable inthis affair, she stumbled as she ran. She saved herself, but a handcaught at her wrist and some one uttered a sound of satisfaction. 

She did not struggle, but she wondered why God had made woman's strengthso disproportionate to man's, and looking up, she saw that it was GeorgeHalkett who held her. At the same moment he would have loosed her hand, but she clung to his because she was trembling fiercely. 

"Oh, George, " she said, "it's you! And I thought it was some onehorrid!"

She could not see him blush. "I'm sorry, " he mumbled. She gleamed, inthe starlight, as he had seen pale rocks gleaming on such a night, butshe felt like the warm flesh she was, and the oval of her face was plainto him; he thought he could see the fear leaving her widely-opened eyes. "I'm sorry, " he said again, and made an awkward movement. "Ithought--I--Wouldn't you like to sit down? There's a stone here. "

"It's the one I fell against!" She dropped on to it and laughed. "Youweren't there, were you, years and years ago, when the bull chased me?That red bull of Mrs. Brent's? He was old and cross. No, of course youweren't. "

"I remember the beast. He had a broken horn. "

"Yes. Just a stump. It made him frightful. I dream about him now. Andwhen you were running after me--"

He broke in with a muffled exclamation and shifted from one foot to theother like a chidden child. "I'm sorry, " he said again, and muttered, "Fool!" as he bent towards her. "Did you hurt yourself against thatstone? Are you all right? You've only slippers on. "

"I've nearly stopped shaking, " she said practically. "And it doesn'tmatter. You didn't mean to do it. I must go home. Rupert is waiting forme. "

His voice was humble. "I don't believe I've spoken to you since that dayin the hollow. "

She remembered that occasion and the curious moment when she felt hiseyes on her, and she was reminded that though he had not been runningafter her, he had certainly been running after somebody. She glanced athim and he looked very tall as he stood there, as tall as the tinker. 

"Why don't you sit down?" she asked quickly, and as he did so she added, on a new thought, "But perhaps I'm keeping you. Perhaps--Don't wait forme. "

"I've nothing else to do, " he told her. 

"I spoke to you, " she said, "the day after your father died. "

"I meant alone, " he answered. 

They sat in silence after that, and for Helen the smell of heather wasthe speech of those immaterial ones who lay about her. Some change hadtaken place among the stars: they were paler, nearer, as though they hadgrown tired of eminence and wanted commerce with the earth. The greatquiet had failed before the encroachment of little sounds as ofburrowing, nocturnal hunting, and the struggles of a breeze that wasalways foiled. 

"Do you know what time it is?" Helen asked in a small voice. 

He held his watch sideways, but he had to strike a match, and its lightdrew all the eyes of the moor. 

"Quick!" Helen said. 

He was not to be hurried. "Not far off midnight. "

"And Rupert's waiting! Good-night, George. "

"And you've forgiven me?" he asked as they parted at the gate. 

"No. " She laughed almost as Miriam might have done, and startled him. "I'll forgive you, " she said, "I'll forgive you when you really hurtme. " She gave him her cool hand and, holding it, he half asked, halftold her, "That's a promise. "

"Yes. Good-night. "

Slowly she walked through the dark hall, hesitated at the schoolroomdoor and opened it. 

"I've come back, " she said, and disappeared before Rupert could reply, for she was afraid he would make some allusion to the tinker. 

It was characteristic of her that, as she undressed, carefully layingher clothes aside, her concern was for George's moral welfare ratherthan for the safety of the person for whom he had mistaken her, and thiswas because she happened to know George, had known him nearly all herlife, while the identity of the other was a blank to her, because shehad no peculiar feeling for her sex; men and women were separated orunited only by their claim on her. 

Mildred Caniper, whose claim was great, came down to breakfast the nextmorning with a return of energy that gladdened Helen and set Miriamthinking swiftly of all the things she had left undone. But MildredCaniper was fair, and where she no longer ruled, she would notcriticize. She condescended, however, to ask one question. 

"Who was on the moor last night?"

"Daniel, " Helen said. 

"Zebedee, " said Miriam. 

"Zebedee?" she said, pretending not to know to whom that name belonged. 

"Dr. Mackenzie. "

"Oh. "

"The father of James and John, " Miriam murmured. 

"So he has children?" Mrs. Caniper went on with her superb assumptionthat no one joked in conversation with her. 

"Oh, I don't think so, " Helen said earnestly. "He isn't married! Miriammeant the gentleman in the Bible. "

"I see. " Her glance pitied Miriam. "But this was early in the evening. Some one came in very late. Rupert, perhaps. "

"No, it was me, " Helen said. 

"I, " Mildred Caniper corrected. 

"Yes. I. "

"Did I hear voices?"

"Did you?" Helen returned in another tone and with an innocence thatsurprised herself and revealed the deceit latent in the mouth of themost truthful. It was long since she had been so near a lie and lyingwas ugly: it made smudges on the world; but disloyalty was no better, and though she could not have explained the debt, she felt that she owedGeorge silence. She had to choose. He had been like a child as hefumbled over his apologies and she could not but be tender with achild. Yet only a few seconds earlier she had thought he was the tinker. Oh, why had Rupert ever told her of the tinker?

"I would rather you did not wander on the moor so late at night, "Mildred Caniper said. 

"But it's the best time of all. "

"I would rather you did not. "

"Very well. I'll try to remember. "

A sign from Miriam drew Helen into the garden. 

"Silly of you to come in by the front way. Of course she heard. If thegarden door is locked, you can climb the wall and get on to the sculleryroof. Then there's my window. "

Helen measured the distance with her eye. "It's too high up. "

"Throw up a shoe and I'll lower a chair for you. "

"But--this is horrid, " Helen said. "Why should I?"

Miriam's thin shoulders went up and down. "You never know, you neverknow, " she chanted. "You never know what you may come to. "

"Don't!" Helen begged. She leaned against a poplar and looked mournfullyfrom the window to Miriam's face. 

"No, " Miriam said, "I've never done it. I only planned it in case ofneed. It would be a way of escape, too, if she ever locked me up. She'scapable of that. Helen, I don't like this rejuvenation!"

"Don't, " Helen said again. 

"I haven't mended the sheets she gave me weeks ago. "

"I'll help you with them. "

"Good, kind, Christian girl! There's nothing like having a reputation tokeep up. That's why I told you about my secret road. "

"You're--vulgar. "

"No, I'm human, and very young, and rather beautiful. And quiteintelligent. " There came on her face the look which made her seem oldand tired with her own knowledge. "Was it Zebedee last night?"

Heat ran over Helen's body like a living thing. 

"You're hateful, " she stammered. "As though Zebedee and I--as thoughZebedee and I would meet by stealth!"

"Honestly, I can't see why you shouldn't. Why shouldn't you?"

Helen smoothed her forehead with both hands. "It was the way you saidit, " she murmured painfully and then straightened herself. "Of coursenothing Zebedee would do could be anything but good. I beg his pardon. "And in a failing voice, she explained again, "It was the way you saidit. "

"I suppose I'm not really a nice person, " Miriam replied. 

CHAPTER XVIII

During the week that followed, a remembrance of her responsibilitiescame back to Helen and when she looked at Mildred Caniper, alternatingbetween energy and lassitude, the shining house seemed wearily far off, or, at the best, Notya was in it, bringing her own shadows. Helen hadbeen too happy, she told herself. She must not be greedy, she must holdvery lightly to her desires lest they should turn and hurt her, yet withall her heart she wanted to see Zebedee, who was a surety for everythingthat was good. 

By Rupert he sent letters which delighted her and gave her a sense ofsafety by their restraint, and on Sunday another letter was delivered byDaniel because Zebedee was kept in town by a serious case. 

"So there will be no fear of my saying all those things that were readyon my tongue, " he wrote, to tease, perhaps to test her, and she criedout to herself, "Oh, I'd let him say anything in the whole world if onlyhe would come!" And she added, on her own broken laughter, "At least, Ithink so. "

She felt the need to prove her courage, but she also wanted an excusefit to offer to the fates, and when she had examined the larder and thestore cupboard she found that the household was in immediate need ofthings which must be brought from the town. She laughed at her ownquibble, but it satisfied her and, refusing Miriam's company, she setoff on Monday afternoon. 

It was a soft day and the air, moist on her cheek, smelt of damp, blackearth. The moor would be in its gorgeous autumn dress for some monthsyet and the distances were cloaked in blue, promising the wayfarer aheaven which receded with every step. 

With a destination of her own, Helen was not daunted. Walking with herlight long stride, she passed the side road leading to Halkett's farmand remembered how George and Zebedee, seated side by side, somethinglike figures on a frieze, had swung down that road to tend old Halkett. Beyond the high fir-wood she came upon the fields where old Halkett hadgrown his crops: here and there were the cottages of his hands, withdahlias and staring children in the gardens, and before long otherhouses edged the road and she saw the thronging roofs of the town. 

It was Zebedee who chanced to open to her when she knocked and she saw agrave face change to one of youth as he took her by the wrist to drawher in. 

"Do you always look like that when I'm not here?" she asked anxiously, quickly, but he did not answer. 

"It's you!" he said. "You!"

In the darkness of the passage they could hardly see each other, but hehad not loosed his grasp and with a deft turn of the wrist she thrusther whole hand into his. 

"I was tired of waiting for you, " she said. "A whole week! I was afraidyou were never coming back!"

"You know I'd come back to you if I were dead. "

"Yes, I know. " She leaned towards him and laughed and, wrenching himselffree from the contemplation of her, he led her to his room. There heshut the door and stood against it. 

"I want to look at you. No, I don't think I'd better look at you. " Hespoke in his quick usual way. "Come and sit down. Is that chair allright? And here's a cushion for you, but I don't believe it's clean. Everything looks dirty now that you are in the room. Helen, are you sureit's you?"

"Yes. Are you sure you're glad? I want to sit and laugh and laugh, doall the laughing I've never had. And I want to cry--with loud noises. Which shall I do? Oh--I can't do either!"

"I've hardly ever seen you in a hat before. You must take it off. No, let me find the pins. Now you're my Helen again. Sit there. Don't move. Don't run away. I'm going to tell Eliza about tea. "

She heard a murmur in the passage, the jingle of money, the front dooropened and shut and she knew the Eliza had been sent out to buy cakes. 

"I had to get rid of her, " Zebedee said. "I had to have you to myself. "He knelt before her. "I'm going to take off your gloves. What do youwear them for? So that I can take them off?"

He did it slowly. Each hand was like a flower unsheathed, and when hehad kissed her fingers and her palms he looked up and saw a face madetragic by sudden knowledge of passion. Her eyes were dark with it andher mouth had shaped itself for his. 

"Helen--!"

"I know--I know--"

"And there's nothing to say. "

"It doesn't matter--doesn't matter--" His head was on her knees and herhands stroked his hair. He heard her whispering: "What soft hair! It'slike a baby's. " She laughed. "So soft! No, no. Stay there. I want tostroke it. "

"But I want to see you. I haven't seen you since I kissed you. Andyou're more beautiful. I love you more--" He rose, and would not see thepersuasion of her arms. "Ah, dear, dearest one, forget I love you. Youare too young and too beautiful for me, Desire. "

"But I shall soon be old. You don't want to wait until I'm old. "

"I don't want to wait at all. "

"And I'm twenty, Zebedee. "

"Twenty! Well, Heaven bless you for it, " he said and swung the hand sheheld out to him. 

"And this is true, " she said. 

"It is. "

"And I never thought it would be. I was afraid Miriam was loving you. "

"But, " he said, still swinging, "I was never in any danger of lovingMiriam. "

She shook her head. "I couldn't have let her be unhappy. "

"And me?"

She gave him an illuminating smile. "You're just myself. It doesn'tmatter if one hurts oneself. "

"Ah!" He bent her fingers and straightened them. "How small they are. Icould break them--funny things. So you'd marry me to Miriam if shewanted me. That isn't altogether satisfactory, my dear. To beyou--that's perfect, but treat me more kindly than you treat yourself. "

"Just the same--it must be. Swing my hand again. I like it. " She went onin a low voice. "All the time, I've been thinking she would comebetween. "

"She can't now. "

She looked up, troubled, and begged, "Don't say so. Sometimes she's justlike a bat, flying into one's face. Only more lovely, and I can't beangry with her. "

"I could. But let's talk about you and me, how much we love each other, and how nice we are. "

"We do, don't we?"

"We are, aren't we?"

"Oh, how silly!"

"Let's be sillier than any one has ever been before. "

"Listen!" Helen said and Zebedee stopped on his way to her. 

"It's that woman. Why didn't something run over her? Is my hairruffled?"

"Come quickly and let me smooth it. Nice hair. "

"Yours is always smooth, but do you know, it curls a little. "

"Oh, no. "

"It does, really, on the temples. Come and look. No, stay there. She'llbe in soon, confound her. "

"We ought to be talking sensibly. "

"Can we?"

"I can. Shall I put my hat on?"

"No, no, not for one greater than Eliza. I'm afraid of you in a hat. NowI'll sit here and you can begin your sensible conversation. "

"I'm serious, truly. It's about Notya. She's funny, Zebedee. At night Ican hear her walking about her room and she's hardly ever strict. Shedoesn't care. I wish you would make her well. "

"Will she let me try?"

"I couldn't ask her that because I pretend not to notice. We all do. She's like a person who--who can't forget. I--don't know. "

"I'm sorry, darling. "

"Don't be. I'm always afraid of being sorry or glad because you don'tknow what will happen. Father leaving us like that, making hermiserable--it's given you to me. " She looked up at him. "The world'sdifficult. "

"Always; but there are times when it is good. Helen--"

Eliza entered, walking heavily in creaking boots, and when Helen lookedat her, she wondered at the tinker. Eliza was hard-featured: she had notmuch hair, and on it a cap hung precariously. Spreading a cloth on asmall table, she went about her business slowly, carrying one thing at atime and leaving the door open as a protest against Helen's presence. 

"Who'll pour?" she asked. 

"You can leave the table there. "

"They were out of sugar cakes. I got buns. "

He looked at them. "If that's the best they can do, they ought to beashamed of themselves. "

"If you want cakes you should get them in the morning. I've kept thechange to pay the milkman. "

With a flourish of the cosy Zebedee turned to Helen as the door wasshut. 

"Isn't she dreadful?"

"She wants a new pair of boots. "

"And a new face. "

"I know she doesn't clean the house properly. How often does she sweepthis carpet? It isn't clean, but I wouldn't mind that if she took careof you. "

"Daniel beat her on the supper question. He thought she'd leave ratherthan give in, and he was hopeful, but she saw through that. She stuck. "

"Isn't she fond of you?" Helen asked wistfully. 

"No, darling, we detest each other. Do I put the milk in first?"

"Bring the table to me and I'll do it. Is she honest?"

"Rigidly. I notice that the dishonest are generally pleasing. No, youcan't have the table. It would hide a lot of you. I want to talk to you, Helen. Have one of these stale buns. What a meal for you! We've got tosettle this affair. "

"But it is settled. "

"Eat your bun and listen, and don't be forward. "

She laughed at him. "It was forward to come here, wasn't it?"

"It was adorable. But since last Sunday, I have been thinking. What doyou know about life, about men? I'm just the one who has chanced acrossyour path. It's like stealing you. It isn't fair. "

"There's Daniel, " she said solemnly. "And the dentist. And your fatherwhen we had measles. And George Halkett--"

"Be serious. "

"There's the tinker. "

"Who on earth is he?"

"A man Rupert told me about, a made-up man, but he has come alive in mymind. I wish he hadn't. I might meet him. Once I nearly did, and if Imet him, Zebedee--"

"Darling, I wish you'd listen. Suppose you married me--"

"You want me to marry you?"

"My dear, precious child--"

"I wasn't sure. Go on. "

"If you married me, and afterwards you found some one you liked better, as well you might, what would happen then?"

"I should make the best of you. "

"You wouldn't run away?"

"If I went, I should walk, but I shouldn't go. I'm like that. I belongto people and to places. "

"You belong to me. "

"Not yet. Not quite. I wish I did, because then I should feel safe, butnow I belong to the one who needs me most. Notya, perhaps. "

"And if we were married?"

"Then I should just be yours. "

"But we are married. "

"No, " she said. 

"I don't see the distinction. "

"But it's there, " she said, and once more he felt the iron under hergrace. 

"This isn't modern, Helen. "

"No, I'm simple. "

"And I don't like it. " He was grave; the muscles in his cheek weretwitching and the brown flecks in his eyes moved quickly. "Marry me atonce. "

"You said I was too young!"

"I say it still. " He paced the room. "It's true, but neither your youthnor anything else shall take you from me, and, oh, my little heart, begood to me. "

"I can't be good enough and I'll marry you when you want me. "

"This week?"

She caught his hand and laid her cheek against it. "Oh, I would, Iwould, if Notya didn't need me. "

"No one, " he said, "needs you as I do. We'll be married in the spring. "

Her hand and her smile acknowledged what he said while her eyes werebusy on his thin face, his worn, well-brushed clothes, the books andpapers on his desk, the arrangements of the room. 

"I don't like any of your furniture, " she said suddenly. "And thoseornaments are ugly. "

He took them from the mantelpiece and threw them into the waste-paperbasket. 

"Anything else? It won't hold the furniture. "

"Ah, you're nice, " she said, and, going to the window, she looked out onthe garden, where the apple-trees twisted themselves out of a roughlawn. 

"When you marry me, " Zebedee said, standing beside her and speakingquietly, "we'll leave this house to Daniel and Eliza. There's oneoutside the town, on the moor road, but set back in a big garden, asquare house. Shall we--shall we go and look at it?"

"Shall we?" she repeated, and they faced each other unsmiling. 

"It's an old house, with big square windows, and there's a rising copsebehind it. "

"I know, " Helen said. 

"There's a little stream that falls into the road. "

"Does it run inside the garden?"

"That's what I'm not sure about. "

"It must. "

He put his hand on her shoulder. "We could peep through the windows. Areyou coming?"

"I don't know, " she said and there was a fluttering movement in herthroat. "Don't you think it's rather dangerously near the road?"

"We could lock the gate, " he said. 

She dropped her face into her hands. "No, I can't come. I'm afraid. It'stempting things to happen. "

"It has been empty for a long time, " he went on in the same quiet tones. "I should think we could get it cheap. "

She looked up again. "And I shall have a hundred pounds a year. Thatwould pay the rent and keep the garden tidy. "

He turned on her sharply. "Mind, I'm going to buy your clothes!"

"I can make them all, " she said serenely. She leaned against him. "Welove each other--and we know so little about each other. I don't evenknow how old you are!"

"I'm nearly thirty-one. "

"That's rather old. You must know more than I do. "

"I expect I do. "

A faint line came between her eyebrows. "Perhaps you have been in lovebefore. "

"I have. " His lips tightened at the memory. 

"Very much in love?"

"Pretty badly. "

"Then I hope she's dead!"

"I don't know. "

"I can't bear her to be alive. Oh, Zebedee, why didn't you wait forme?"

"I should have loved you less, child. "

"Would you? You never loved her like this?"

"She wasn't you. "

In a little while she said, "I don't understand love. Why should wematter so much to each other? So much that we're afraid? Or do we onlythink we do? Perhaps that's it. It can't matter so much as we make out, because we die and it's all over, and no one cares any more about ourlittle lives. " On a sigh he heard her last words. "We mustn't struggle. "

"Struggle?"

"For what we want. "

To this he made no answer, but he had a strange feeling that the firm, fine body he held was something more perishable than glass and might bebroken with a word. 

He took her to the moor, but when they passed the empty house she wouldnot look at it. 

"The stream does run through the garden, " he said. "We could sail boatson it. " And he added thoughtfully, "We should have to dam it upsomewhere to make a harbour. "

CHAPTER XIX

Disease fell heavily on the town that autumn and Zebedee and Helen hadto snatch their meetings hurriedly on the moor. She found that Miriamwas right and she had no difficulty and no shame in running out into thedarkness for a clasp of hands, a few words, a shadowy glimpse of Zebedeeby the light of the carriage lamps, while the old horse stood patientlybetween the shafts and breathed visibly against the frosty night. Overthe sodden or frozen ground, the peat squelching or the heather stalkssnapping under her feet, she would make her way to that place where shehoped to find her lover with his quick words and his scarce caressesand, returning with the wind of the moor on her and eyes wide withwonder and the night, she would get a paternal smile from Rupert and agibing word from Miriam, and be almost unaware of both. For weeks, herdays were only preludes to the short perfection of his presence and hernights were filled with happy dreams: the eyes which had once been sowatchful over Mildred Caniper were now turned inwards or levelled on theroad; she went under a spell which shut out fear. 

In December she was brought back to a normal world by the illness ofMildred Caniper. One morning, without a word of explanation orcomplaint, she went back to her bed, and Helen found her there, lyinginert and staring at the ceiling. She had not taken down her hair andunder the crown of it her face looked small and pinched, her eyes werelike blue pools threatening to over-run their banks. 

"Is your head aching?" Helen said. 

"I--don't think so. "

"What is it, then?"

"I was afraid I could not--go on, " she said carefully. "I was afraid ofdoing something silly and I was giddy. "

"Are you better now?"

"Yes. I want to rest. "

"Try to sleep. "

"It isn't sleep I want. It's rest, rest. "

Helen went away, but before long she came back with a dark curtain toshroud the window. 

"No, no! I want light, not shadows, " Mildred cried in a shrill voice. "Adark room--" Her voice fell away in the track of her troubled memories, and when she spoke again it was in her ordinary tones. "I beg yourpardon, Helen. You startled me. I think I must have dozed and dreamed. "

"And you won't have the curtain?"

"No. Let there be light. " She lay there helpless, while thoughts preyedon her, as vultures might prey on something moribund. 

At dinner-time she refused to help herself to food, though she ate ifHelen fed her. "The spoon is heavy, " she complained. 

Miriam was white and nervous. "She ought to have Zebedee, " she said. "She looks funny. She frightens me. "

"We could wait until tomorrow, " Helen said. "He is so busy and I don'twant to bring him up for nothing. He's being overworked. "

"But for Notya!" Miriam exclaimed. "And don't you want to see him?" Shecould not keep still. "I can't bear people to be ill. He ought to come. "

"Go and ask John. "

"What does he know about it?" she whispered. "I keep thinking perhapsshe will go mad. "

"That's silly. "

"It isn't. She looks--queer. If she does, I shall run away. I'm going toGeorge. He'll drive into the town. You mustn't sacrifice Notya toZebedee, you know. "

Helen let out an ugly, scornful sound that angered Miriam. 

"Old sheep!" she said, and Helen had to spare a smile, but she wasthoughtful. 

"Perhaps John would go. "

"But why not George?"

"We're always asking favours. "

"Pooh! He likes them and I don't mind asking. "

"Well, then, it would be rather a relief. I don't know what to do withher. "

The sense of responsibility towards George which had once kept Miriamawake had also kept her from him in a great effort of self-denial, andit was many days since she had done more than wave a greeting or givehim a few light words. 

"I believe I've offended you, " he had told her not long ago, but sheassured him that it was not so. 

"Then I can't make you out, " he muttered. 

She shut her eyes and showed him her long lashes. "No, I'm a mystery. Think about me, George. " And before he had time to utter his genuine, clumsy speech, she ran away. 

"But I can't avoid temptation much longer, " she told herself. "Life'stoo dull. "

And now this illness which alarmed her was like a door opening slowly. 

"And it's the hand of God that left it ajar, " she said as she spedacross the moor. 

Her steps slackened as she neared the larch-wood, for she had notventured into it since the night of old Halkett's death; but it waspossible that George would be working in the yard and, tiptoeing downthe soft path, she issued on the cobble-stones. 

George was not there, nor could she hear him, and she was constrained toknock on the closed door, but the face of Mrs. Biggs, who appearedafter a stealthy pause, was not encouraging to the visitor. She lookedat Miriam and her thin lips parted and joined again without speech. 

"I want Mr. Halkett, " Miriam said, straightening herself and speakinghaughtily because she guessed that Mrs. Biggs was suspicious of herfriendliness with George. 

"He's out. You'll have to wait, " she said and shut the door. 

A cold wind was swooping into the hollow, but Miriam was hot with agathering anger that rushed into words as Halkett appeared. 

"George!" She ran to him. "I hate that woman. I always did. I wish youwouldn't keep her. Oh, I hate her!"

"But you didn't come here to tell me that, " he said. In her haste shehad allowed him to take her hand and the touch of her softened hisresentment at her neglect; amusement narrowed his eyes until she couldnot see their blue. 

"She's horrid, she's rude; she left me on the step. I didn't want to goin, but she oughtn't to have left me standing there. "

"She ought not. I'll tell her. "

"Dare you?"

"Dare I!" he repeated boastfully. 

"But you mustn't! Don't, George, please don't. Promise you won't. Promise, George. "

"All right. "

"Thank you. " She drew her hand away. 

"The fact is, she's always pretty hard on you. "

Miriam's flame went out. "You don't mean, " she said coldly, "that youdiscuss me with her?"

"No, I do not. "

"You swear you never have?"

He had a pleasing and indulgent smile. "Yes, I swear it, but shedislikes the whole lot of you, and you can't always stop a woman'stalk. "

"You should be able to, " she said. She wished she had not come forGeorge did not realize what was due to her. She would go to John and shenodded a cold good-bye. 

Her hands were in the pockets of her brown woollen coat, her shoulderswere lifted towards her ears; she was less beautiful than he had everseen her, yet in her kindest moments she had not seemed so near to him. He was elated by this discovery; he did not seek its cause and, had hedone so, he was not acute enough to see that hitherto the feelings shehad shown him had been chiefly feigned, and that this real resentment, marking her face with petulance, revealed her nature to be common withhis own. 

"But you've not told me what you came for, " he said. 

She was reluctant, but she spoke. "To ask you to do something for us. "

"You know I'll do it. "

Still sulky, she took a few steps and leaned against the house wall; shehad the look of a boy caught in a fault. 

"We want the doctor. "

"Who's ill?"

"It's Notya. "

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know. " She forgot her grievance. "I don't like thinking of it. It makes me sick. "

"Is she very bad?"

"No, but I think he ought to come. "

"Must I bring him back?"

"Just leave a message, please, if it doesn't put you out. "

In the pause before he spoke, he studied the dark head against thewhite-washed wall, the slim body, the little feet crossed on thecobbles, and then he stammered:

"You--you're like a rose-tree growing up. "

She spread her arms and turned and drooped her head to encourage theresemblance. "Like that?"

He nodded, with the clumsiness of his emotions. "Look here--"

"Now, don't be tiresome. Oh, you can tell me what you were going tosay. "

"All these weeks--"

"I know, but it was for your sake, George. "

"How?"

"It's difficult to explain, but one night my good angel bent over mybed, like a mother--or was it your good angel?"

He grinned. "I don't believe you'd know one if you saw one. "

"I'm afraid I shouldn't, " she admitted, with a laugh. "Would you?"

"I fancy I've seen one. "

"Mrs. Biggs?" she dared. "Me?"

"I'm not going to tell you. "

"I expect it's me. But run away and bring the doctor. "

"I say--will you wait till I get back?"

"I couldn't. Think of Mrs. Biggs!"

"Not here. Up in the wood. But never mind. Come and see me saddle thelittle mare. "

She liked the smell of the long, dim stable, the sound of the horsesmoving in their stalls, the regular crunching as they ate their hay. Years ago, she had been in this place with John and Rupert and she hadforgotten nothing. There were the corn-bins under the windows and thepieces of old harness still hanging on big nails; above, there was theloft that looked as vast as ever in the shadowy gloom, and again itinvited her ascent by the iron steps between the stalls. 

From the harness-room Halkett fetched a saddle, and as he put it on themare's back, he said, "Come and say how d'you do to her. "

"It's Daisy. She'll go fast. Isn't she beautiful! She's rubbing her noseon me. I wish I could ride her. "

"She might let you--for half a minute. Charlie's the boy for you. Comeand see what's in the harness-room. "

"Not now. There isn't time. "

"Wait for me then. " There was pleading in his voice. "Wait in the wood. I've something to show you. Will you do that for me?"

He was standing close to her, and she did not look up. "I ought to goback, but I don't want to. I don't like ill people. They sicken me. "

"Don't go, then. "

Now she looked at him in search of the assurance she wanted. "I needn't, need I? Helen can manage, can't she?"

He forgot to answer because she was like a flower suddenly brought tolife in Daisy's stall, a flower for grace and beauty, but a woman forsomething that made him deaf to what she said. 

"She can manage, can't she?"

"Of course. " He snatched an armful of hay from a rack and led her to thelarch trees and there he scraped together the fallen needles and laidthe hay on them to make a bed for her. 

"Rest there. Go to sleep and I'll be back before you wake. "

She lay curled on her side until all sounds of him had passed and thenshe rolled on to her back and drew up her knees. It was dark and warm inthe little wood; the straight trunks of the larches were as menacing asspears and the sky looked like a great banner tattered by their points. Though she lay still, she seemed to be marching with a host, and thelight wind in the trees was the music of its going, the riven banner wasa trophy carried proudly and, at a little distance, the rushing of thebrook was the sound of feet following behind. For a long time she wentwith that triumphant army, but at length there came other sounds thatforced themselves on her hearing and changed her from a gallant soldierto a girl half frightened in a wood. 

She sat up and listened to the galloping of a horse and a voice singingin gay snatches. The sounds rose and sank and died away and came forthlustily again, and in the singing there was something full-blooded andurgent, as though the singer came from some danger joyfully escaped orhurried to some tryst. She stood up and, holding to a tree, she leanedsideways to listen. She heard Halkett speaking jovially to the mare ashe pulled her up on the cobbles and gave her a parting smack of his openhand: then there began a sweet whistling invaded by other sounds, byDaisy's stamping in her stall, a corn-bin opened and shut, and Halkett'sfootsteps in the yard. Soon they were lost in the softness of the larchneedles, but the whistling warned her of his coming and alarmed her withits pulsing lilt, and as she moved away and tried to make no noise, adry branch snapped under her feet. 

"Where are you?" he called out. 

"Here, " she answered, and awaited him. She could see the light gleamingin his eyes. 

"Were you running off?"

"I didn't run. "

He wound his arm about a tree and said, "We came at a pace, the mare andI. "

"I heard you. Is Dr. Mackenzie coming?"

"Yes--fast as that old nag of his will bring him. "

She slipped limply to the ground for she was chilled. She had bracedherself for danger and it had turned aside, and she felt nothankfulness: she merely found George Halkett dull. 

"Thank you for going, " she said in cool tones. "Now I must go back andsee how Notya is. "

"No. I want to show you the side saddle. "

"Which?"

"The one for you. "

Adventure was hovering again. "For me? Are you really going to teach meto ride?"

"Didn't I say so?"

"But when?"

"When the rest of the world's in their beds. "

"Oh. Won't it be too dark?"

"We'll manage. We'll try it first in daylight, right over the moor whereno one goes. Most nights are not much darker than it is now, though. Ican see you easily. "

"Can you?" She was rocking herself in the way to which she hadaccustomed him. "What can you see?"

"Black hair and black eyes. Come here. "

"I'm quite comfortable and you should never tell a lady to come to you, George. "

"Are you asking me to come to you?"

"Don't be silly. Aren't you going to show me the saddle?"

"Yes. Where's your hand? I'll help you up. There you are! No, I'll keepyour hand. The ground's steep and you might fall. "

"No. Let me have it, George. "

Her resistance broke the bonds he had laid on himself, and over herthere fell a kind of wavering darkness in which she was drawn to him andheld against his breast. His coat smelt of peat and tobacco; she felthis strength and the tense muscles under his clothes, and she did notstruggle to get free of him. Ages of warm, dark time seemed to havepassed over her before she realized that he was doing something to herhair. He was kissing it and, without any thought, obedient to the hour, she turned up her face to share those kisses. He uttered a low sound andput a hand to either of her cheeks, marking her mouth for his, and itwas then she pushed him from her, stepped back, and shook herself andcried, "Oh, oh, you have been drinking!"

As she retreated, he advanced, but she fenced him off with outstretchedhands. 

"Go away. You have been drinking. "

"I swear I haven't. I had one glass down there. I was thirsty--and nowonder. I swear I had no more. It's you, you that's sent it to my head. "

At that, half was forgiven, but she said, "Anyhow, it's horrid and itmakes me hate you. Go away. Don't touch me. Don't come near. " In herretreat she stumbled against a tree and felt a bitterness of reproachbecause he did not ask if she were hurt. 

"I'll show you I'm sober, " he grumbled. "What do you know about it?You're a schoolgirl. "

"Then if you think that you should be still more ashamed. "

"Well, I'm not. You made me mad and--you didn't seem to mind it. "

"I didn't, but I do now, and I'm going. "

He followed her to the wood's edge and there she turned. 

"If your head is so weak you ought never to take spirits. "

"My head isn't weak, and I'm not a drunkard. Ask any one. It's you thatare--"

She offered the word--"Intoxicating?" And she let a smile break throughher lips before she ran away. 

She felt no mental revulsion against his embrace; the physical one wasonly against the smell of spirits which she disliked, and she was thericher for an experience she did not want to repeat. She saw no reason, however, why he should not be tempted to offer it. She had tasted of thefruit, and now she desired no more than the delight of seeing it heldout to her and refusing it. 

The moor was friendly to her as she crossed it and if she had sufferedfrom any sense of guilt, it would have reassured her. Spread under thepale colour of the declining sun, she thought it was a big eye thattwinkled at her. She looked at the walls of her home and felt unwillingto be enclosed by them; she looked towards the road, and seeing thedoctor's trap, she decided to stay on the moor until he had been andgone, and when at last she entered she found the house ominously darkand quiet. The familiar scent of the hall was a chiding in itself andshe went nervously to the schoolroom, where a line of light marked itsmeeting with the floor. 

Helen sat by the table, mending linen in the lamplight. She gave oneupward glance and went on working. 

"Well?" Miriam said. 

"Well?"

"Did he come?"

"Yes. "

"What did he say?"

"He called it collapse. "

"How clever of him!"

"I have left the tea-things for you to wash, and will you please getsupper?"

"You needn't talk like that. I'm willing to do my share. "

"You shirked it today, and though I know you're frightened of her, that's no excuse for leaving me alone. "

Miriam leaned on the table and asked in a gentler voice, "Is she likelyto be ill long?"

"It's very likely. "

"Well, we shan't miss her while you are with us, but it's a pity, whenwe might have peace. You're just like her. I hope you'll never have anychildren, for they'd be as miserable as I am, only there wouldn't be onelike me. How could there be? One only has to think of Zebedee. "

Helen stood up and brought her hand so heavily to the table that thelamplight flared. 

"Go!" she said, "go--" Her voice and body shook, her arms slid limplyover her mending, and she tumbled into her chair, crying with sobs thatseemed to quaver for a long time in her breast. Miriam could not haveimagined such a weeping, and it frightened her. With one finger shetouched Helen's shoulder, and over and over again she said, "I'm sorry, Helen. I'm sorry. Don't cry. I'm sorry--" until she heard Rupertwhistling on the track. At that Helen stirred and wiped her eyes, butMiriam darted from the room, shouted cheerfully to Rupert and, keepinghim in talk, led him to the dining-room, while Helen sat staring withblurred eyes at the linen pile, and seeing the misery in MildredCaniper's face. 

CHAPTER XX

It was a bitter winter, with more rain than snow, more snow thansunshine, and it seemed to Helen that half her life was spent inwatching for Zebedee's figure bent against the storm as he drove up theroad, while Mildred Caniper lay slackly in her bed. She no longer staredat the ceiling, for though her body had collapsed, her will had onlywavered, and it was righting itself slowly, and the old thoughts whichhad been hunting her for years had not yet overcome her. Like hounds, they bayed behind, and some day their breath would be on her neck, theirteeth in her flesh, and she would fall to them. This was the threat inthe sound which reached her, soft or loud, as bells are heard in thewind, and in the meantime she steadied herself with varying arguments. Said one of these, "The past is over, " yet she saw the whole future ofthese Canipers as the product of her acts. Reason, unsubdued, refused toallow her so much power, and she gave in; but she knew that if goodbefell the children she could claim no credit; if evil, she would takeall the blame. There remained the comfortable assurance that she haddone her best, and then Miriam's face mocked her as it peeped furtivelyround the bedroom door. Thus she was brought back to her starting place, and finding the circle a giddy one, she determined to travel on it nomore, and with her old rigidity, she kept this resolve. It was, however, less difficult than it would once have been, for her mind was weary andglad of an excuse to take the easiest path. She lay in bed according toZebedee's bidding, hardly moving under the clothes, and listening to thenoises in the house. She was astonished by their number andsignificance. All through the night, cooling coals ticked in the grateor dropped on to the hearth; sometimes a mouse scratched or cheeped inthe walls, and on the landing there were movements for which Helen couldhave accounted: Mr. Pinderwell, more conscious of his loss in thedarkness, and unaware that his children had taken form, was moving fromdoor to door and scraping his hands across the panels. Often the windhowled dolorously round the house while rain slashed furiously at thewindows, and there were stealthy nights when snow wound a white muffleragainst the noises of the world. The clock in the hall sent out clearmessages as to the passing of man's division of time, and at lengththere came the dawn, aged and eternally young, certain of itself, with agrey amusement for man's devices. Before that, Helen had opened her doorand gone in soft slippers to light the kitchen fire, and presentlyRupert was heard to whistle as he dressed. Meanwhile, as though itlooked for something, the light spread itself in Mildred Caniper's roomand she attuned her ears for the different noises of the day. There wasMiriam's laughter, more frequent than it had been before her stepmotherwas tied to bed, and provocative of a wry smile from the invalid; therewas her farewell shout to Rupert when he took the road, her huskysinging as she worked about the house. Occasionally Mildred heard thestormy sound of Mrs. Samson's breathing as she polished the landingfloor, or her voice raised in an anecdote too good to keep. Broomsknocked against the woodwork or swished on the bare floors, and stillthe clock, hardly noticed now, let out its warning that human life isshort, or as it might be, over long. Later, but not on every day of theweek, the jingle of a bit, the turning of wheels, rose to Mildred'swindow, telling her that the doctor had arrived, and though she had agrudge against all who saw her incapacitated, she found herself lookingforward to his visits. He did not smile too much, nor stay too long, though it was remarkable that his leave-taking of her was notimmediately followed by the renewed jingling of the bit. She was sureher condition did not call for prolonged discussion and, as sheremembered Miriam who was free to come and go unchecked, to laugh away aman's wits, as her mother had done before her, Mildred Caniper grew hotand restless: she felt that she must get up and resume control, yet sheknew that it would never be hers in full measure again, and while, in arare, false moment, she pretended that the protection of Zebedee was heraim, truth stared at her with the reminder that the legacy of her oldenvy of the mother was this desire to thwart the daughter. 

After that, her thoughts were long and bitter, and their signs were onher face when Helen returned. 

"What have you been doing?" Helen demanded, for she no longer had anyawe of Mildred Caniper, a woman who had been helpless in her hands. 

"Please don't be ridiculous, Helen. "

"I'm not. "

"This absurd air of authority--"

"But you look--"

"We won't discuss how I look. Where is Miriam?"

"I don't know. Yes, I do. She went to Brent Farm to get some cream. Zeb--He says you're to have cream. "

Mildred made a movement which was meant to express baffled patience. "Ihave tried to persuade you not to use pronouns instead of proper names. Can't you hear how vulgar it is?"

"Dr. Mackenzie wishes you to have cream, " Helen said meekly. 

"I do not need cream, and his visits are becoming quite unnecessary. "

"So he said today. "

"Oh. "

"But I, " Helen said, smiling to herself, "wish him to come. "

"And no doubt the discussion of what primarily concerns me is what keptDr. Mackenzie so long this afternoon. "

"How did you know he stayed?"

"My good Helen, though I am in bed, I am neither deaf nor an imbecile. "

"Oh, I know, " Helen said with a seriousness which might as well havebeen mockery as stupidity. "I gave him--I gave Dr. Mackenzie tea. Hewas driving further, and it's such a stormy day. "

"Quite right. He looks overworked--ill. I don't suppose he is properlycared for. "

"He has a cough. He says he often gets one, " Helen almost pleaded, andshe went, at the first opportunity, from the room. 

She encountered Jane's solemn and sympathetic stare. "I can't haveneglected him, can I?" she asked of the little girl in the pinafore, andthe shadows on the landing once more became alive with the unknown. "Hedoes cough a lot, Jane, but he says it's nothing, and he tells thetruth. " She added involuntarily and with her hand at her throat, "I'vebeen so happy, " and immediately the words buzzed round her with menace. She should not have said that; it was a thing hardly to be thought, andshe had betrayed her secret, but it comforted her to remember that thiswas nearly the end of January, and before long the Easter fires wouldburn again and she could pray. 

Between the present and that one hour in the year when she might ask forhelp, Zebedee's cough persisted and grew worse. He had to own to aweakness of the lungs; he suffered every winter, more or less, andthere had been one which had driven him to warmer climes. 

"And you never told me that before!" she cried, with her hand in thattell-tale position at her throat. 

"My dear, there has been no time to tell you anything. There hasn't beenone day when we could be lavish. We've counted seconds. Would I talkabout my lungs?"

"Perhaps we don't really know each other, " Helen said, hoping he wouldnot intercept this hostage she was offering to fortune, and she lookedat him under her raised brows, and smiled a little, tempting him. 

"We don't, " he said firmly, and she drew a breath. "We only know we wanteach other, and all the rest of our lives is to be the adventure offinding each other out. "

"But I'm not adventurous, " she said. 

"Oh, you'll like it, " he assured her, smiling with his wonderfully whiteteeth and still more with the little lines round his eyes. He looked ather with that practical air of adoration which was as precious to her ashis rare caress; she felt doubly honoured because, in his love-making, he preserved a humour which did not disguise his worship of her. "You'lllike it, " he said cheerfully. "Why don't you marry me now and take careof me?"

She made a gesture towards the upper room. "How can I?"

"No, you can't. Not, " he added, "so much on that account, as simplybecause you can't. I'd rather wait a few months more--"

"You must, " she said, and faintly irritated him. She looked at herclasped hands. "Zebedee, do you feel you want to be taken care of?" Hervoice was anxious and, though he divined how much was balanced on hisanswer, he would not adjust it nicely. 

"Not exactly, " he said honestly, and he saw a light of relief and ashadow of disappointment chase each other on her face. 

"After all, I think I do know you rather well, " he murmured, as he tookher by the shoulders. "Do you understand what I am doing?"

"You're telling me the truth. "

"And at what a cost?"

She nodded. "But you couldn't help telling me the truth. "

"And if I bemoaned my loneliness, how my collars get lost in the wash, how tired I am of Eliza's cooking and her face, how bad my cough is, then you'd let me carry you away?"

"I might. Zebedee--are those things true, too?"

"Not particularly. "

"And your cough isn't bad?"

He hesitated. "It is rather bad. "

"And you're a doctor!"

"But my dear, darling, love--I've no control over the weather. "

"You ought to go away, " she said in a low voice. 

"I hope it won't come to that, " he said. 

It was Rupert who asked her a week later if she had jilted Zebedee. 

"Why?" she asked quickly. 

"He's ill, woman. "

"I know. "

"But really ill. You ought to send him away until the spring. "

Her lips moved for a few seconds before she uttered "Yes, " and afterthat sound she was mute under the double fear of keeping him and partingfrom him, but, since to let him go would give her the greater pain, itwas the lesser fear, and it might be that the powers who were alwayswaiting near to demand a price would, in this manner, let her get herpaying done. She welcomed the chance of paying in advance and she keptsilence while she strengthened herself to do it bravely. 

Because she did not speak, Rupert elaborated. "When Zebedee loses histemper, there's something wrong. "

"Has he done that?"

"Daniel daren't speak to him. "

"He never speaks to people: he expounds. "

"True; but your young man was distinctly short with me, even me, yesterday. Listen to your worldly brother, Helen. Why don't you marryhim and take him into the sun? It's shining somewhere, one supposes. "

"I can't. "

"Why not? There's Miriam. "

"What good is she?"

"You never give her a chance. You're one of those self-sacrificing, selfish people who stunt other people's growth. It's like not letting ababy learn to walk for fear it falls and hurts itself, or tumbles intothe best flower-beds and ruins 'em. Have you ever thought of that?"

"But she's happier than she used to be, " Helen said and smiled as thoughnothing more were needed. "And soon she will be going away. She won'tstay after she is twenty-one. "

"D'you think that fairy-tale is going to come true?"

"Oh, yes. She always does what she wants, you know. And she is countingon Uncle Alfred, though she says she isn't. She had a letter from himthe other day. "

"And when she has gone, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do. "

"Things won't be easier for you then. You'd better face that. "

"But she'll be better--Notya will be better. "

"And you'll marry Zebedee. "

"I don't like saying what I'm going to do. "

Rupert's dark eyes had a hard, bright light. "Are you supposed to lovethat unfortunate man? Look here, you're not going to be tied to Notyaall her life. Zebedee and I won't have it. "

"What's going to happen to her, then?"

"Bless the child! She's grown up. She can look after herself. "

"But I can't leave just you and her in this house together. "

He said in rather a strained voice, "I shan't be here. The bank'ssending me to the new branch. "

"Oh!" Helen said. 

"I'm sorry about it. I tried not to seem efficient, but there'ssomething about me--charm, I think. They must have noticed how I talk tothe old ladies who don't know how to make out their cheques. So they'resending me, but I don't know that I ought to leave you all. "

"Of course you must. "

"I can come home on Saturdays. "

"Yes. And Notya's better, and John is near. Why shouldn't you go?"

"Because your face fell. "

"It's only that everybody's going. It seems like the end of things. " Shepictured the house without Rupert and she had a sense of desolation, forno one would whistle on the track at night and make the house warmer andmore beautiful with his entrance; there would be no one to look up fromhis book with unfailing readiness to listen to everything and understandit; no one to say pleasant things which made her happy. 

"Why, " she said, plumbing the depths of loss, "there'll be no one to getup early for!"

"Ah, it's Miriam who'll feel that!" he said. 

"And even Daniel won't come any more. He's tired of Miriam'sfoolishness. "

"To tell you a secret, he's in love with some one else. But he has noluck. No wonder! If you could be married to him for ten years before youmarried him at all--"

"I don't know, " Helen said thoughtfully. "Those funny men--" She did notfinish her thought. "It will be queer without you, " and after a pauseshe added the one word, "lonely. "

It was strange that Miriam, whom she loved best, should never presentherself to Helen's mind as a companion: the sisters, indeed, rarelyspoke together except to argue some domestic point, to scold each other, or to tease, yet each was conscious of the other's admiration, thoughHelen looked on Miriam as a pretty ornament or toy, and Miriam gazeddubiously at what she called the piety of the other. 

"Yes, lonely, " she said, but in her heart she was glad that her paymentshould be great, and she said loudly, as though she recited her creed:"I wouldn't change anything. I believe in the things that happen. "

"May they reward you!" he said solemnly. 

"When will you have to go?"

"I'm not sure. Pretty soon. Look here, my dear, you three lone womenought to have a dog to take man's place as your natural protector--andso on. "

"Have you told Zebedee you are going?"

"Yesterday. "

"Then he will be getting one. "

"H'm. He seems to be a satisfactory lover. "

"He is, you know. "

"Thank God for him. "

"Would you?" Helen said. She had a practical as well as a superstitiousdistaste for offering thanks for benefits not actually received, andalso a disbelief in the present certainty of her possession, but shetook hope. John had gone, Rupert was going, of her own will she wouldsend Zebedee away, and then surely the powers would be appeased, and ifshe suffered enough from loneliness, from dread of seeing MildredCaniper ill again, of never getting her lover back, the rulers of herlife might be willing, at the end, to let her have Zebedee and theshining house--the shining house which lately had taken firmer shape, and stood squarely back from the road, with a little copse of treesrising behind. 

CHAPTER XXI

She cried out when next she saw him, for between this and their nextmeeting he had grown gaunter, more nervous, sharper in voice andgesture. 

"Oh, you're ill!" she said, and stepped back as though she did not knowhim. 

"Yes, I'm ill. " He held to a chair and tipped it back and forth. "Forgoodness' sake, don't talk about it any more. I'm ill. That's settled. Now let's get on to something else. "

He saw her lip quiver and, uttering a desperate, "I'm sorry, " he turnedfrom her to the window. 

The wisdom she could use so well with others was of no avail with him:he was too much herself to be treated cunningly. She felt that shefloated on a sea vastly bigger than she had ever known, and its waveswere love and fear and cruelty and fate, but in a moment he turned andshe saw a raft on which she might sail for ever. 

"Forgive me. "

"You've made me love you more. "

"With being a brute to you?"

"Were you one? But--don't often be angry. I might get used to it!"

He laughed. "Oh, Helen, you wonder! But I've spoilt our memories. "

"With such a little thing? And when I liked it?"

"You nearly cried. I don't want to remember that. "

"But I shall like to because we're nearer than we were, " she said, andto that he solemnly agreed. "And I am going to talk about it. "

"Anything, of course. "

"You look tired and hungry and sleepy, and I'm going to send you away. "

"My dear, " he said with a grimace, "I've got to go. "

"Give me the credit of sending you. "

"I don't want it. Ah! you've no idea what leaving you is like. "

"But I know--"

"That's not the same thing. "

"It's worse, I believe. Darling one, go away and come back to me, butdon't come back until you're well. I want--I want to do without younow--and get it over. " Her eyes, close to his, were bright with thevision of things he could not see. "Get it over, " she said again, "andthen, perhaps, we shall be safe. "

He had it in him at that moment to say he would not go because of hisown fear for her, but he only took her on his knee and rocked her asthough she were a baby on the point of sleep and he proved that, afterall, he knew her very well, for when he spoke he said, "I don't think Ican go. "

She started up. "Have you thought of something?"

"Yes. "

"What is it?"

"You. "

"Me?" she asked on a long note. 

"I don't know whether I can trust you. "

"Me?" she said again. 

"Don't you remember how I asked you to be brave?"

"I tried, but it was easier then because I hadn't you. " Her armtightened round his neck. "Now you're another to look after. "

He held her off from him. "What am I to do with you? What am I to dowith you? How can I leave this funny little creature who is afraid ofshadows?"

"That night, " she said in a small voice, "you told me I looked brave. "

"Yes, brave and sane. And I have often thought--don't laugh at me--Ihave thought that was how Joan of Arc must have looked. "

"And now?"

"Now you are like a Joan who does not hear her voices any more. "

She slipped from his knee to hers. "You're disappointed then?"

"No. "

"You ought to be. "

"Perhaps. "

"Would you love me more if I were brave?"

"I don't believe I could. "

She laughed, and with her head aslant, she asked, "Then what's the goodof trying?"

"Just to make it easier for me, " he said. 

She uttered a little sound like one who stands in mountain mists andthrough a rent in the grey curtain sees a light shining in the valley. 

"Would it do that for you? Oh, if it's going to help you, I'm afraid nolonger. " She reached out and held his face between the finger-tips ofher two hands. "I promise not to be afraid. Already"--she looked abouther--"I am not afraid. How wonderful you are! And what a wise physician!Physician, heal thyself. You'll go away?"

"Yes, I can go now. "

"Where?"

"For a voyage. The Mediterranean. Not a liner--on some slow-going boat. "

"Not a leaky one, " she begged. 

"Ah, I'd come back if she had no bottom to her. Nothing is going to hurtme or keep me from you!"

She did not protest against his boasting, but smiled because she knew hemeant to test her. 

"You'll be away a long time, " she said. 

"And you'll marry me when I come back?"

"Yes. If I can. "

"Why not? In April? May? June? In June--a lovely month. It has a soundof marriage in it. But after all, " he said thoughtfully, "it seems apity to go. And I wouldn't, " he added with defiance, "if I were notafraid of being ill on your hands. "

"My hands would like it rather. "

"Bless them!"

"Oh--what silly things we say--and do--and you haven't seen Notya yet. "

"Come along then, " he said, and as they went up the stairs togetherHelen thought Mr. Pinderwell smiled. 

It was after this visit that Mildred Caniper coolly asked Helen if Dr. Mackenzie were in the habit of using endearments towards her. 

"Not often, " Helen said. Slightly flushed and trying not to laugh, shestood at the bed-foot and faced Mildred Caniper fairly. 

"You allow it?"

"I--like it. "

Mildred Caniper closed her eyes. "Please ask him not to do it in mypresence. "

"I'll tell him when he comes again, " Helen answered agreeably, and herstepmother realized that the only weapons to which this girl wasvulnerable were ones not willingly used: such foolish things as tears orsickness; she seemed impervious to finer tools. Helen's looks at themoment were unabashed: she was trying to remember what Zebedee had said, both for its own sake and to gauge its effect on Notya to whose memoryit was clear enough, and its naturalness, the slight and unmistakablechange in his voice as he spoke to Helen, hurt her so much with theirreminder of what she had missed that pain made her strike once more. 

"This is what I might have expected from Miriam. "

"But, " said Helen, all innocence, "she doesn't care for him. "

"And you do. "

She did not wish to say yes; she could not say no; she kept herhalf-smiling silence. 

"How long has this been going on?" The tones were sharp with impotence. 

"Oh--well--since you went to Italy. At least, " she murmured vaguely, "that was when he came to tea. "

But Mildred did not hear the last homely sentence, and Helen's nextwords came from a great distance, even from the shuttered room in Italy. 

"And why should you mind? Why shouldn't we--like each other?"

Mildred Caniper opened her remarkably blue eyes, and said, almost intriumph, "You'll be disappointed. "

At that Helen laughed with a security which was pathetic and annoying tothe woman in the bed. 

"Life--" Mildred Caniper began, and stopped. She had not yet reached thestage, she reflected, when she must utter platitudes about the commonlot. She looked at Helen with unusual candour. "I have never spoken toyou of these things, " she said. 

"Oh, I shouldn't like you to!" Helen cried, and her hands were near herears. 

Mildred allowed her lips to curve. "I am not referring to the facts ofgeneration, " she said drily, and her smile broadened, her eyebrowslifted humorously. "I am quite aware that the--the advantages of acountry life include an early arrival at that kind of knowledge. Besides, you were fortunate in your brothers. And then there were allthe books. "

"The books?"

"The ones Rupert used to bring you. "

"So you knew about them. "

"I have had to remind you before, Helen, that I am not out of my mind. "

"What else do you know?" Helen asked with interest, and sat down on thebed. 

This was Miriam's inquiry when the conversation was reported to her. 

"She didn't tell me anything else. I think she had said more than shemeant. She is like that sometimes, now. It's because she hasn't so muchstrength. "

"I expect she knows everything we ever did. "

"Well, we never did much. "

"No. And everything we do now. "

"She didn't know about Zebedee. "

"Oh, she wouldn't suspect you. "

"Then don't do anything you shouldn't, " Helen said mildly. 

"Her 'should' and my 'should' are very different members of the samefamily, my dear. " She peered into Helen's face and squeaked, "And whatthe devil is there to do?"

"Don't use words like that. "

"Wow! Wow! This is the devil's St. Helena, I imagine. There's nothing tobe done in it. I believe she has eyes all round her head. "

"He's a gentleman always, in pictures. "

"Are you really stupid?"

"I think so. "

"I was talking about Notya. "

"Oh. "

"And I believe she can see with her ears and hear with her eyes. Helen--Helen, you don't think she gets up sometimes in the night, andprowls about, do you?"

"I should hear her. "

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"I sleep so lightly. The other night--"

"Yes?"

"I was waked by a sheep coughing outside the garden. "

Miriam burst out laughing. "Did you think it was Zebedee?" She laughed agreat deal more than was necessary. "Now she's putting on hernever-smiled-again expression! Will he be back before I go away?"

Helen looked at her dumbly. She heard the garden gate shutting behindJohn and Zebedee, Rupert and Miriam, with a clang which seemed to forbidreturn, and her dread of Zebedee's going became sharper, though beneathher dread there lay the courage she had promised him. 

"And there will be the dog, " she found herself saying aloud. 

The animal, when he arrived, leapt from the dog-cart in which he hadbeen unwillingly conveyed and proved to be an Airedale, guaranteed to bea perfect watch-dog and suspicious of all strangers. 

Proudly, Zebedee delivered himself of these recommendations. 

"He's trained, thoroughly trained to bite. And he's enormously strong. Just look at his neck! Look at his teeth--get through anything. "

Helen was kneeling to the dog and asking, "Are you sure he'll bitepeople? He seems to like me very much. "

"I've been telling him about you. My precious child, you can't have adog who leaps at people unprovoked. He'd be a public danger. You mustsay 'Rats!' or something like that when you want him to attack. "

"Well--I love him, " she said. 

"And I've something else for you. "

"Oh, no!"

"Shut your eyes--"

"And open my mouth?"

"No, give me your hand. There! Will you wear that for me?"

"Oh! Oh! It's the loveliest thing I've ever seen in my life! Much! Oh, it's perfect. It's so white. "

"Tell me I'm rather a success today. "

"You're one all the time. Did you have it made for me?"

"D'you think I'd get you something out of a shop window? I made it up. And there's another thing--"

"But you won't have any money left!" she cried. 

"Then I won't tell you about the third thing. "

She said solemnly, "You ought to have no secrets from me. "

"Have you none from me?"

"Not one. Except--but that's so silly--except the tinker. "

"Tell me that one. "

She obeyed him, and she frowned a little, because she could notunderstand why the thing should need telling. "And then I went on to themoor, and George Halkett ran after me, and I thought it was the tinker. "

"Why, " Zebedee asked, "did he run after you?"

"He must have thought I was some one else. "

"Why does he run after anybody?"

"Because he's George, I think, and if John were here he would tell youthe story of how he tried to kiss Lily Brent!"

"That sort of animal oughtn't to be let loose. "

"I like him, " Helen said. "I'm sorry for him. "

"H'm, " said Zebedee. "Well, you have the dog. "

"Oh, " she said, "he isn't like that with me. We've known each other allour lives. And you don't mind about the tinker?"

"I don't think so. "

"It's not nearly so bad, " she persuaded him, "as the real woman you onceliked. "

He did not contradict her. "We're not going to argue about dreams andthe past. We haven't time for that. "

"And I haven't begun to thank you! I knew you were going to bring adog!"

"Who told you?"

"I just knew you'd think of it. But two lovely presents in one day, andboth from you! But I feel--I feel--"

"I know. You want to drown the dog and throw the ring away as hostagesfor my safety. "

"Yes, don't laugh. "

"My dear, " he said wearily, "there are moments when one can do nothingelse. "

"I'm sorry. And don't be angry with me in case you make me love you toomuch to let you go! And I'm brave, really. I promise to be good. "

He nodded in his quick way while he looked at her as though, in spite ofall he said, he feared he might never look at her again, and she wasproud of his firm lips and steady eyes in the moment of the passionateadmiration which lived with her like a presence while he was away. 

CHAPTER XXII

Helen passed into a pale windy world one February morning and walkedslowly down the track. There was no sharpness in the air and the coloursof approaching spring seemed to hover between earth and heaven, thoughthey promised soon to lay themselves down to make new green and splendidpurple and misty blue. Slow-moving clouds paced across the sky, and asshe looked at them Helen thought of Zebedee sailing under richer colourand with white canvas in the place of clouds. She wondered if time creptwith him as slowly as it did with her; if he had as much faith in hercourage as she had in his return. She knew he would come back, and shehad trained herself to patience: indeed, it was no hard matter, for hershad always been a world in which there was no haste. The seasons hadtheir leisured way; the people moved with heavy feet; the moor lay inits wisdom, suffering decay and growth. Even the Brent Farm cattle madebright but stationary patches in the field before the house, and as shedrew nearer she came upon John and Lily leaning on a fence. Their elbowstouched; their faces were content, as slowly they discussed the fate ofthe cow they contemplated, and Helen sat down to await their leisure. 

Before her, the moor sloped to the road and rose again, liftingPinderwell House on its bosom, and to her right, from the hiddenchimneys of Halkett's Farm, she could see smoke rising as though it werethe easy breath of some monster lying snug among the trees. There was noother movement, though the sober front of Pinderwell House was animatedfor an instant by the shaking of some white substance from a window. Miriam was at her household tasks, and Helen waved a hand to the darkbeing who had made life smoother for her since her night of stormyweeping. She waved a hand of gratitude and friendship, but the signalwas not noticed, the house returned to its discretion, John and Lilytalked sparsely but with complete understanding, and Helen grew drowsyin the sunshine. She was happier than she had ever been, for Zebedee hadlaid peace on her, like a spell, and the warmth of that happiness stoleup from her feet and spread over her breast; it curled the corners ofher mouth so that John, turning to look at her, asked her why shesmiled. 

"I'm comfortable, " she said. 

"Never been comfortable before?"

She gave him the clear depths of her eyes. "Not often. "

He went away, driving the cow before him, and Lily stood looking afterhim. 

"He's wonderful, " she said. "He comes along and takes hold of things andbegins to teach me my own business. "

"So you're pleased with him?" Helen said demurely. 

"Yes, " the other answered with twitching lips, "he's doing very well. "Her laughter faded, and she said softly, "I wonder if they oftenhappen--marriages like ours. "

"Tell me about it. "

"Nothing to tell. It's just as if it's always been, and every minute itseems fresh. "

"No, " Helen said consideringly, "I shouldn't think it often happens. I've come for a pound of butter, please. "

"How's Mrs. Caniper?"

"She's better, but I think she would be rather glad to die. I let hermake a cake yesterday, and it did her good. Come and see her soon. "

"I will. Let's go to the dairy. Will you have it in halves or quarters?Look at my new stamp!"

"What is it meant to be?"

"Well! It's a Shetland pony, of course. "

"I like the pineapple better. I don't think a pony seems right onbutter. I'll have the pineapple. "

"John says there's as much sense in one as in the other, because wedon't get butter from either of them. "

"The pineapple is food, though. "

"So's the pony, by some accounts!" She leaned in her old attitudeagainst a shelf, and eyed Helen nervously. "Talking of ponies, have youseen anything of these ghostly riders?"

"I don't know what they are. "

"That's what my--our--shepherd calls them. He saw them late one night, awhile back. One was a woman, he said, and the air was cold with them andset him sneezing. That's what he says. "

"It was some of the wild ponies, I suppose. "

"Maybe. "

"You don't think it was really ghosts?"

"No, for I've seen them myself. " She paused. "I haven't said anything toJohn, but I'm wondering if I ought. "

"Why not?"

Lily's gaze widened in her attempt to see what Helen's point of viewwould be and she spoke slowly, that, if possible, she might not offend. 

"It was George Halkett I saw. There was no woman, but he was leading onehorse and riding another. It was one night when John was late on themoor and I went to look for him. George didn't see me. I kept quiet tillhe'd gone by. There was a side saddle on the led horse. "

"Well?" Helen said. 

"That's all. I thought you ought to know. "

In that moment Helen hated Lily. "Is it Miriam you're hinting at?" sheasked on a high note. 

"Yes, it is. You're making me feel mean, but I'm glad I've told you. It's worried me, and John--I didn't like to tell John, for he has agrudge against the man, and he might have made trouble before he need. "

"I think that's what you're doing, " Helen said. 

"That may be. I took the risk. I know George Halkett. Miriam, having abit of fun, might find herself landed in a mess. I'm sorry, Helen. Ihope I'm wrong. "

Helen was half ashamed to hear herself asking, "How late was it?"

"About twelve. "

"But I'm awake half the night. I should have heard. Besides--would therebe any harm?"

"Just as much as there is in playing with fire, " Lily said. 

"'Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth, '" Helen said, looking at the ground. 

"Yes, but there's more than a little fire in Miriam, and GeorgeHalkett's a man, you know. "

Helen raised her head and said, "We've lived here all our lives, and wehave been very lonely, but I have hardly spoken to a man who was notgentle. John and Rupert and Zebedee and Daniel, all these--no one hasspoken roughly to us. It makes one trustful. And George is always kind, Lily. "

"Yes, but Miriam--she's not like you. "

"She's much more beautiful. "

Lily's laughter was half a groan. "That won't make George any gentler, my dear. "

"Won't it?"

Lily shook her head. "But perhaps there's nothing in it. I'm sorry tohave added to your worries, but Miriam's so restless and discontented, and I thought--"

"Ah, " Helen interrupted gladly, "but lately she has been different. Lately she has been happier. Oh!" She saw where her words had led her, and with a little gesture of bewilderment she turned and walked away. 

Perhaps, after all, the things that happened were not necessarily best, and for the first time Helen felt a blind anger against the unknown. Ina moment of sharp vision, she saw what this vaguely concentrated lifehad done for her and Miriam, and she wondered by whose law it had beendecreed that no human being could have a destiny unconditioned by someone else, and though she also saw that this law was the glory as well asthe tragedy of life, she rebelled against it now, lest the radiant beingwhom she loved should be dishonoured or disillusioned. 

Helen's firm curved lips took a harder line as she went slowly home, forit seemed to her that in an active world the principle of just going onleft all the foes unconquered and ready for the next victim who shouldpass that way. 

She slept fitfully that night, and once she woke to a sound of gallopingon the moor. She knew it was made by more animals than two, yet herheart beat quickly, and her thoughts sprang together to make a pictureof George Halkett leading a horse without a rider through the night, waiting in the darkness with his ears stretched for the sound of onecoming through the heather. 

She started up in bed, for the mysterious allurement of George's imagewas strong enough to make her understand what it might be for Miriam, and she held herself to the bed lest she should be tempted to play thespy; yet, had she brought herself to open her sister's door, she wouldhave been shamed and gladdened by the sight of that pretty sleeper lyingathwart her bed in profound unconsciousness. 

Miriam, whose heart was still untouched by God or man, could lie andsleep soundly, though she knew George waited for her on the moor. Therestlessness that had first driven her there had sent her home again, that, by a timely abstention, she might recover the full taste ofadventure, and that, by the same means, George might learn her worth. She was a little puzzled by his behaviour, and she began to findmonotony in its decorum. According to his promise, he had taught her toride, and while all her faculties were bent on that business, she hardlynoticed him, but with confidence in her own seat and Charlie'ssteadiness, there came freedom to look at George, and with it the desireto rule the expression of his face and the modulations of his voice. 

He would not be beguiled. "I'm teaching you to ride, " he said, andthough she mocked him he was not stirred to quarrel. She was temporarilyincapable of realizing that while she learnt to ride, he learnt tohonour her, and found safety for himself and her in silence; nor, hadshe realized it, would she have welcomed it. What she wanted was thepleasure of being hunted and seeing the hunter discomfited, and thoughshe could not get that from him, she had a new joy when Charlie carriedher strongly and safely across the moor; again she knew the feeling ofpassing through a void, of sailing on a thunder-cloud without hope ofrescue and careless of it, and she paid a heavy price when she decidedthat it would do George good to wait in vain for her. She would not havehim disrespectful, but she desired him ardent; she wished to see thatstubbornly set mouth open to utter longings, and, when she went to bedafter a dull day, she laughed to think of how he waited and stared intothe gloom. 

A fortnight passed before she stole out on a misty night and at theappointed place found him like a grey carved figure on a grey carvedhorse. Only his lips moved when she peered at him through the mist. Hesaid, "This is the fifteenth night. If you'd waited till tomorrow, youwouldn't have found me here. "

"George, " she said, with her face close to his knee, "how unkind you areto me. And, oh, George, do you really think I should have cared?"

In the mist, she, too, had the look of one not made of flesh and blood, but she had no likeness to some figure carved: she was the spirit of themist with its drops on her hair, a thing intangible, yet dowered withpower to make herself a torment. So she looked, but Halkett had felt thetouch of her, and taking her by the wrist, he dragged her upwards whilehe bent down to her. 

"You--you--!" he panted. 

"You're hurting, George!"

"What do I care? I haven't seen you for two weeks. I've been--beenstarving for you. "

She spoke coolly, with a ringing quality in her tones. "You would see mebetter if you didn't come so near. "

Immediately he loosened her without looking at her, and she stoodchafing her hands, hating his indifference, though she knew it wasassumed, uncertain how to regain her supremacy. Then she let instinctguide her, and she looked a little piteous. 

"Don't be rough with me. I didn't mean--I don't like you to be roughwith me. "

He was off his horse and standing by her at those words, and, stillwatchful for rebuffs, he took her hand and stroked it gently. 

"Did I hurt you, then?" he said. 

"Yes. Why are you like that?" She lifted her head and gave him the ovalface, the dark, reproachful eyes like night. 

"Because I'm mad for you--mad for you. Little one--you make me mad. Andyou'll never marry me. I know that. And I'm a fool to let you play thedevil with me. I know that, too. A mad fool. But you--you're in myblood. "

Softly she said, "You never told me that before. You needn't scold meso. How should I know you wanted that?"

"You knew I loved you. "

"No. I knew you liked me and I hoped--"

He bent his head to listen. 

"I hoped you loved me. "

His words came thickly, a muddy torrent. "Then marry me, marry me, Miriam. Marry me. I want--I can't--You must say you'll marry me. "

Keeping her eyes on him, she moved slowly away, and from behindCharlie's back she laughed with a genuine merriment that woundedinexpressibly. 

"You're funny, George, " she said. "Very funny. At present I have nointention of doing anything but riding Charlie. "

Through a mist doubled and coloured by his red rage, he watched herclimb into the saddle and, before she was fairly settled in it, he gavethe horse a blow that sent him galloping indignantly out of sight. 

Halkett did not care if she were thrown, for his anger and his passionwere confounded into one emotion, and he would have rejoiced to see heron the ground, her little figure twisted with her fall, but he did notfollow her. He went home in the rain that was now falling fast, and whenthe mare was stabled he brewed himself a drink that brought oblivion. 

CHAPTER XXIII

Helen waked, that night, from a short deep sleep, to hear the falling ofheavy rain and sharp gusts of wind that bowed the poplars. As the stormstrengthened, raindrops were blown on to her pillow, and she could hearthe wind gathering itself up before it swept moaning across the moor andbroke with a miserable cry against the walls. She hoped Mildred Caniperslept through a wailing that might have a personal note for her, and asshe prepared to leave the room and listen on the landing, she thoughtshe heard a new sound cutting through the swish of the rainfall and theshriek of wind. It was a smaller sound, as though a child were alone andcrying in the night, and she leaned from her window to look into thegarden. The rain wetted her hair and hands and neck, while she staredinto varying depths of blackness--the poplars against the sky, the lawn, like water, the close trees by the wall--and as she told herself thatthe wind had many voices, she heard a loud, unwary sob and the impact ofone hard substance on another. 

Some one was climbing the garden wall, and a minute later a head roseabove the scullery roof. It was Miriam, crying, with wet clothesclinging to her, and Helen called out softly. 

"Oh, is that you?" she answered, and laughed through a tangled breath. "I'm drenched. "

"Wait! I'll go into Phoebe and help you through. "

"There's a chair here. I left it. I'm afraid it's ruined!"

Helen entered the other room as Miriam dropped from the window-ledge tothe floor. 

"Don't make a noise. We mustn't wake her. Oh, oh, you look--you looklike rags!"

Miriam sat limply; she shook with cold and sobs and laughter. Waterdripped from every part of her, and when Helen helped her up, all thestreams became one river. 

Helen let go of the cold hands and sank to the bed. "There must begallons of it! And you--!"

"I'm frozen. Mop it up. Towels--anything. I'll fling my clothes out ofthe window. They are quite used to the scullery roof. "

"Speak quietly. Whisper. She may hear you!"

"That would be--the devil, wouldn't it? Good thing Rupert isn't here!Put something at the bottom of the door. Lock it. My fingers are numb. Oh, dear, oh, dear, I can't undo my things. "

"Let me. You ought to have hot water, and there's no fire. I'll rub youdown. And your hair! Wring it out, child. What were you doing on themoor?"

"Just amusing myself. "

"With George Halkett?"

"We-ell, I was with him in the spirit, oh, yes, I was; but in the flesh, only for a very little while. What made you think I was with him?"

"Something I heard. Are you warmer now?"

"Much warmer. Give me my nightgown, please. Oh, it's comfortable, andout there I was so cold, so cold. Oh, " she cried out, "I should love toset his farm on fire!"

"Hush!"

"But I would! If I'd had matches, and if it hadn't been raining, and ifI'd thought about it, I would have done it then. "

"But what did he do to you?" Helen's eyes were sombre. "He surely didn'ttouch you?"

Miriam's arrested laughter marked their differences. She rememberedGeorge Halkett's hand on hers and the wilder, more distant passion ofhis arms clasping her among the larches. 

"It wasn't that, " she said. "He asked me to marry him--and it wasn'tthat. I met him to go riding, and I think I must have teased him. Yes, Idid, because he hit my horse, and I couldn't hold him, and I fell off atlast. I lay in the heather for a long time. It was wet, Helen, and I wasall alone. I cried at first. I would have killed him if he had comenear. I would, somehow, but he never came. He didn't care, and I mighthave been killed, just because I teased him. Then I cried again. Wouldyou mind coming into bed with me to keep me warm? I'm glad I'm here. Ilost my way. I thought I should be out there all night. It was dark, andthe wind howled like demons, and the rain, the rain--! Closer, Helen. "

"Did he frighten you?"

"Of course he didn't. I was angry. Oh"--the small teeth gritted on eachother--"angry! But I'll pay him out. I swear I will. "

"Don't swear it. Don't do it. I wish Rupert were here. I'm glad Zebedeegave me Jim. "

"Pooh! Do you think George will break into the house? Jim would fly athim. I'd like that. He's got to be paid out. "

Helen moved in the bed. "What's the good of doing that?"

"The good! He made me bite the earth. I joggled and joggled, and at lastI went over with a bump, and when I bumped I vowed I'd hurt him. "

"You needn't keep that kind of vow. "

"Then what was the good of making it? We always keep our promises. "

"Promise not to see him any more. "

"Don't worry. I've finished with him--very nearly. Will you stay with meall night? There's not much room, but I want you to keep hold of me. I'mwarm now, and so beautifully sleepy. "

Her breathing became even, but once it halted to let her say, "He's abeast, but I can't help rather liking him. "

She slept soon afterwards, but Helen lay awake with her arm growingstiff under Miriam's body, and her mind wondering if that pain weresymbolic of what wild folly might inflict. 

It was noticeable that Miriam did not venture on the moor in the daysthat followed, but every day Helen went there with Jim, who neededexercise and was only restrained from chasing sheep by timely employmentof his energy, and every day Halkett, watching the house, saw these twosally forth together. They went at an easy pace, the woman with herskirt outblown, her breast fronting the wind, her head thrown back, herhands behind her, the dog marching by her side, and in their clearnessof cut, their pale colour, for which the moor was dado and the skyfrieze, he found some memory of sculptures he had seen and hardlyheeded, ancient things with the eternity of youth on them, the capturedsplendour of moving limb and passionate brain. Then he was aware offresh wind and fruitful earth, but as she passed out of sight, he wasimprisoned again by stifling furies. He had begun to love Miriam with asincerity that wished to win and not to force her; he had controlled thewild heritage of his fathers and tried to forget the sweetness of herbody in the larch-wood; he was determined not to take what she would notgive him gladly; and now, by her own act, she had changed his strivinglove into desire--desire to hurt, to feel her struggling in his arms, hating his kisses, paying a bitter price for her misuse of him. He had avicious pleasure in waiting for the hour when he should feel her bodystraining away from his, and each night, as he sat drinking, he livedthrough that ecstasy; each day, as he went about his work, he kept aneye on the comings and goings of the Canipers, waiting for his chance. Miriam did not appear, and that sign of fear inflamed him; but on Sundaymorning she walked on the moor with Rupert, holding him by the arm andmaking a parade of happiness, and in the afternoon, Daniel was added tothe train. 

Monday came, and no small, black-haired figure darted from the house:only Helen and the majestic dog walked together like some memory of ayounger world. 

His mind held two pictures as he sat alone at night, and, correspondingto them, two natures had command of him. He saw Helen like dawn andMiriam like night, and as one irritated him with her calm, the otherroused him with her fire, and he came to watch for Helen that he mightsneer inwardly at her, with almost as much eagerness as he watched forMiriam that he might mutter foul language, like loathed caresses. 

Drink and desire and craving for peace were all at work in him. Thedreams he had been building were broken by a callous hand, and he satamong the ruins. He could laugh, now, at his fair hopes, but they hadhad their part in him, and he could never go back to the days when herode and drank and loved promiscuously, with a light heart. She hadrobbed, too, when she cast down his house, but there was no end to heroffence, for when, out of coarser things, this timid love had begun tocreep, it had been thrown back at him with a gibe. 

He was in a state when the strongest suggestion would have its way withhim. He wanted to make Miriam suffer; he wanted to be dealt with kindly, and he had a pitiful and unconscious willingness to take another'smould. So, when he saw Helen on the moor, the sneering born of herdistance from him changed slowly to a desire for nearness, and heremembered with what friendliness they had sat together in the heatherone autumn night, and how peace had seemed to lie upon them both. Awoman like that might keep a man straight, he thought, and when shestopped to speak to him one morning, her smile was balm to his hurts. 

She looked at him in her frank way. "You don't look well, George. "

"Oh--I'm all right, " he said, hitting his gaiters with his stick. 

"It's a lovely day, " she said, "and you have some lambs already. I hopethe snow won't come and kill them. "

"Hope not. We're bound to lose some of them, though. "

Why, he asked himself angrily, was she not afraid of him who wasplanning injury to her sister? She made him feel as though he couldnever injure any one. 

"You haven't noticed my dog, " she said. 

"Yes--" he began. He had been noticing him for days, marching beside heragainst the sky. "He's a fine beast. "

"Isn't he?" Her finger-tips were on Jim's head. 

"You want a dog now there's no man in your house. "

She laughed a little as she said, "And he feels his responsibility, don't you, Jim?"

"Come here, lad, " Halkett called to him. "Come on. That's right!"

"He seems to like you. "

"I never knew the dog that didn't; but don't make him too soft, or he'llbe no good to you. "

"Well, " she said gaily, "you are not likely to break into our house!"

His flush alarmed her, for it told her that she had happened on theneighbourhood of his thoughts, and her mind was in a flurry to asserther innocence and engender his, but no words came to her, and her handjoined his in fondling the dog's head. 

"Well, I must be going on, " George said, and after an uncertain instanthe walked away, impoverished and enriched. 

Helen sat down heavily, as though one of her own heart-beats had pushedher there, and putting her arm round Jim's neck, she leaned her head onhim. 

"Jim, " she said, "don't you wish Zebedee would come back? If I hadn'tpromised--" She looked about her. George had disappeared, and near bygrey sheep were eating with a concentration that disdained her and thedog. It was a peaceful scene, and a few early lambs dotted it withwhite. "It's silly to feel like this, " she said. "Let's go and findMiriam. "

She was discovered in the garden, digging. 

"But why?" Helen asked. 

"I must have exercise. " Her hair was loosened, her teeth worked on herunder-lip as her foot worked on the spade. "You don't know how I miss myriding!"

"I've just seen George. "

"Have you?"

"I spoke to him. "

"How brave! How did he look?"

"Horrid. His eyes were bloodshot. "

"Ah! He has been drinking. That's despair. Perhaps it's time I tried tocheer him up. "

"Don't make him angry. "

"I'm not going to. I'm not vindictive. I'm rather nice. I've recoveredfrom my rage, and now I wouldn't set his farm on fire for worlds. Why, if I saw it blazing, I should run to help! But I'd like to tease himjust a little bit. "

"I wish you wouldn't. I think it's rather mean, he looks so miserable. And I'm sure it isn't safe. Please, Miriam. "

"I can take care of myself, my dear. "

"I'm not so sure. "

"Oh, yes, I can. I'm going to make it up with him. I must, or I shallnever be able to walk about the moor again. "

"I wish you didn't live here, " Helen said. 

"Well, so do I. But it's not for long. " She was working vigorously, and, with her peculiar faculty for fitting her surroundings, she looked asthough she had been begotten of sun and rain and soil. Helen tookdelight in her bright colour, strong hands and ready foot. 

"I wonder, " Helen said thoughtfully, "if Uncle Alfred would take younow. "

"Do you want to save me from George's clutches?"

"Yes, I do. "

Miriam threw back her head and laughed. "You funny little thing! You'rerather sweet. George hasn't a clutch strong enough to hold me. You canbe sure of that. "

She was herself so certain that she waylaid him on the moor next day, but to her amazement he did not answer her smile of greeting and passedon without a word. 

"George!" she called after him. 

"Well?" He looked beyond her at the place where green moor met blue sky:he felt he had done with her, and Helen's trust had taken all thesweetness from revenge. 

"Aren't you going to say good-morning? I came on purpose to see you. "

"You needn't trouble, " he said and, stealing a look at her, he weakened. 

"But I need. " He was wavering, she knew, and her mouth and eyes promisedlaughter, her body seemed to sway towards him. 

"I want--I want to forgive you, George. "

"Well, I'm--"

"Yes, you are, no doubt, but I don't want to be, so I forgive mytrespassers, and I've come to make friends. "

"You've said that before. "

"I've always meant it. Must I hold out my arm any longer?"

"No. " She was too tempting for his strength. He took her by theshoulders, looked greedily at her, saw the shrinking he had longed forand pressed his mouth on hers. She gave a cry that made a bird startfrom the heather, but he held her to him and felt her struggling with aforce that could not last, and in a minute she dropped against him ashelplessly as if she had been broken. 

He turned her over on his arm. "You little devil!" he said, and kissedher lips again. 

Her face was white and still: she did not move and he could not guessthat behind the brows gathered as if she were in pain, her mindransacked her home for a weapon that might kill him, and saw thecarving-knife worn to a slip of steel that would glide into a man's bodywithout a sound. She meant to use it: she was kept quiet by thatdetermination, by the intensity of her horror for caresses that, unlikethose first ones in the larch-wood, marked her as a thing to be used andthrown away. 

She knew his thoughts of her, but she had her own amid a delirium ofhate, and when he released her, she was shaking from the effort of hercontrol. 

"Now I've done with you, " he said, and she heard him laugh as he wentaway. 

She longed to scream until the sky cracked with the noise, and she hadno knowledge of her journey home. She found herself sitting at thedinner-table with Helen, and heard her ask, "Don't you feel well?"

"No. I'm--rather giddy. "

She watched the knife as Helen carved, and the beauty of its slimnessgave her joy; but suddenly the blade slipped, and she saw blood onHelen's hand and, rushing from the table to the garden, she stood therepanting. 

"It's nothing, " Helen shouted through the window. "Just a scratch. "

"Oh, blood! It's awful!" She leaned on the gate and sobbed feebly, expecting to be sick. She could not make anybody bleed: it was terribleto see red blood. 

Trembling and holding to the banisters, she went upstairs and lay downon her bed, and presently, through her subsiding sobs, there came atrickle of laughter born of the elfish humour which would not besuppressed. She could not kill George, but she must pay him out, and shewas laughing at herself because she had discovered his real offence. Itwas not his kisses, not even his disdain of what he took, though thatenraged her: it was his words as he cast her off and left her. She satup on the bed, clenching her small hands. How dared he? How dared he?She could not ignore those words and she would let him know that he hadbeen her plaything all the time. 

"All the time, George, my dear, " she muttered, nodding her black head. "I'll just write you a little letter, telling you!"

Kneeling before the table by her window, she wrote her foolish messageand slipped it inside her dress: then, with a satisfaction which broughtpeace, she lay down again and slept. 

She waked to find Helen at her bedside, a cup of tea in her hand. 

"Oh--I've been to sleep?"

"Yes. It's four o'clock. Are you better?"

"Yes. "

"Lily is here. John's gone to town. It's market-day. "

"Market-day!" She laughed. "George will get drunk. Perhaps he'll falloff his horse and be killed. But I'd rather he was killed tomorrow. Perhaps a wild bull will gore him--right horn, left horn, righthorn--Oh, my head aches!"

"Don't waggle it about. "

"I was just showing you what the bull would do to George. "

"Leave the poor man alone. "

But that was what Miriam could not do, and she waited eagerly for thedark. 

The new green of the larches was absorbed into the blackness of nightwhen she went through them silently. She had no fear of meeting George, but she must wait an opportunity of stealing across the courtyard andthrowing the letter through the open door, so she paused cautiously atthe edge of the wood and saw the parlour lights turning the cobbles ofthe yard to lumps of gold. There was no sign of Mrs. Biggs, but aboutthe place there was a vague stir made up of the small movements andbreathings of the horses in the stable, the hens shut up for the night, the cows in their distant byres. Branches of trees fretted against eachother and the stream sang, out of sight. 

The parlour light burned steadily, no figure came into view, and, lifting her feet from her slippers, Miriam went silently towards thedoor. She had thrown in the letter and was turning back, when she heardnailed boots on the stones, a voice singing, a little thickly, in anundertone. She caught her breath and ran, but as she fumbled for herslippers in the dark, she knew she was discovered. He had uttered aloud, "Ha!" of triumph, his feet were after her, and she squealed like ahunted rabbit when he pounced on her. 

It was very dark within the wood. His face was no more than a blur, andher unseen beauty was powerless to help her. She was desperate, and shelaughed. 

"George, you'll spoil my little joke. I've left a letter for you. It's ashame to spoil it, Georgie, Porgie. "

His grasp was hurting her. "Where is the letter?" he asked in a curious, restrained voice. 

"In the doorway. Let me go, George. I'll see you tomorrow. George--please!"

"No, " he said thoughtfully, carefully, "I don't think I shall let yougo. Come with me--come with me, pretty one, and we'll read yourlove-letter together. "

CHAPTER XXIV

While these things happened at Halkett's Farm, Helen sat sewing in theschoolroom. Mildred Caniper had been in bed all day, as often happenednow, and there Miriam was supposed to be, on account of that strangegiddiness of hers. 

Helen worked at the fashioning of a dress in which Zebedee should thinkher fair and the lamplight shone on the pale grey stuff strewing thetable and brought sparks from the diamonds on her hand: the clipping ofthe scissors made a cheerful sound, and Jim, as he sat before the fire, looked up at her sometimes with wise and friendly eyes. 

It was late when she began to be oppressed by the quiet of the house. Itwas as though some one had just stopped whispering and would beginagain. She felt that she was watched by the unseen, and the loudness ofher own movements shocked her, but she worked on, using the scissorsstealthily and starting if a coal fell in the grate. 

Surely there was some one standing outside the door? She changed herseat to face it. Surely eyes were peering through the window? She roseand drew the curtains with a suddenness that made Jim growl. 

"Be quiet, dog!" She stood and listened. The night held its breath, thestored impressions of the old house took shape and drew close and, though they did not speak, their silent pressure was full of urging, ominous and discreet. 

She folded her work and put out the light, told Jim to follow her up thestairs, and trod them quietly. It was comforting to see the Pinderwellson the landing, but she had no time for speech with them. She waswondering if death had come and filled the house with this sense ofpresences, but when she bent over Mildred Caniper's bed she found hersleeping steadily. 

On the landing, she let out a long breath. "Oh, Jane, I'm thankful. "

She went into Miriam's room and saw that the bed was empty and thewindow wide. She looked out, and there was a chair on the scullery roofand, as she leant, trembling, against the sill, she heard the note ofthe hall clock striking eleven. That was a late hour for the people ofthe moor, and she must hasten. She was sure that the house had warnedher, and, gathering her wits, she posted Jim at the bottom of the stairsand ran out, calling as she ran. She had no answer. The lights of BrentFarm were all out and she went in a dark, immobile world. There was nowind to stir the branches of the thorn-bushes, the heather did not moveunless she pressed it, and her voice floated to the sky where there wereno stars. Then the heavier shade of the larches closed on her, and whenshe left them and fronted Halkett's Farm, there was one square of light, high up, at the further end, to splash a drop of gold into the hollow. 

Towards that light Helen moved as through thick black water. She carriedher slippers in her hand and felt her feet moulded to the cobbles as shecrossed the yard and stood below the open window. She listened there, and for a little while she thought her fears were foolish: she heard nomore than slight human stirrings and the sound of liquid falling into aglass. Then there came Miriam's voice, loud and high, cutting thestillness. 

"I'll never promise!"

There was another silence that held hours in its black hands. 

"No? Well, I don't know that I care. But you're not going home. When themorning comes perhaps it'll be you begging me for a promise! Think itover. No hurry. There's all night. " George was speaking slowly, sayingeach word as if he loved it. "And you're going to sit on my knee, now, and read this letter to me. Come. "

Helen heard no more. She rushed to the front door and found it locked, and wasted precious seconds in shaking it before she abandoned cautionand rushed noisily round the house where the kitchen door luckilyyielded to her hand. Through a narrow passage and up narrow stairs sheblundered, involved in ignorance and darkness, until a streak of lightran across her path and she almost fell into a room where Miriam stoodwith her back against the wall. She had the look of one who has beentortured without uttering a sound and, in the strain of her dark headagainst the flowered wall, there was a determination not to plead. 

Her face crumpled like paper at the sight of Helen. 

"Oh, " she said, smiling foolishly, "what--a good thing--you came. "

She slipped as a picture falls, close to the wall, and there was hardlya thud as her body met the floor. 

Helen did not stir: she looked at Miriam and at Halkett, who was sittingon the bed, and on him her gaze rested. His answered it, and while, fora moment, she saw the man beyond the beast, his life was enlightened bywhat was rare in her, and his mind, softened by passion to theconsistency of clay, was stamped with the picture of her as she stoodand looked at him. Vaguely, with uneasiness and dislike, he understoodher value; it was something remote as heaven and less desired, yet itstrengthened his sensual scorn of Miriam, and rising, he went and made ahateful gesture over her. Some exclamation came from him, and he stoopedto pick her up and slake his thirst for kisses. He wanted to beat herabout the face before he cast her out. 

"Don't touch her!" Helen said in tones so quiet that he hesitated. "Shehas only fainted. "

He laughed at that. "Don't think I'm worrying, but she's mine, and I'lldo what I like with her. "

He drew up her limp body and held it until it seemed to be merged intohis own, and though his mouth was close on hers, he did not kiss it. Hislips moved fast, but no words came, and he lowered her slowly andshakily to the floor. He turned to Helen, and she saw that all thecolour had left his face. 

"Go out!" he said, and pointed. 

The clasp of her hands tightened, and while she looked up at him, sheprayed vehemently. "O God, God, " she thought, "let me save her. O God, what shall I do? O God, God, God!"

"Go out, " he said. "I'm going to keep her here till she'll be glad to bemy wife, and then it'll be my turn to laugh. She can go home in themorning. "

"I want to sit down, " Helen said. 

She looked for a chair and sat on it, and he dropped to the bed, whichgave out a loud groaning sound. He hid his face in his hands and rockedhimself to and fro. 

"She's tortured me, " he muttered, and glared angrily at Helen. 

She rose and went to him, saying, "Yes, but she's only a little girl. You must remember that. And you're a man. "

"Yes, by God!" he swore. 

He raised both hands. "Get out of this!" he shouted. "She shall stayhere tonight. " The hands went to Helen's shoulders and forced her to herknees. "D'ye hear? I tell you she's made me mad!"

Helen was more pitiful than afraid. She hardly knew what she did, butshe thought God was in the room. 

"George, I'll do anything in the world for you if you'll give her up. Anything. You couldn't be so wicked. George, be quick. Before she wakes. Shan't we carry her out now? Shan't we?" She forgot his manhood, and sawhim only as a big animal that might spring and must be soothed. "Let usdo that before she knows. George--"

He looked half stupefied as he said childishly, "But I swore I'd haveher, and I want her. "

"But you don't love her. No, no, you don't. " She laid a hand on hisknee. "Why, you've known us all our lives. "

"Ah!" He sprang up and past her and the spell of the soft hands andvoice was broken. He sneered at her. "You thought you'd done it thattime!"

"Yes, " she said sadly, and put herself between him and Miriam. With herchin on her clasped hands, and her steady eyes, she seemed to be thething he had always wanted, for the lack of which he had suffered, beentormented. 

"George, " she said, "I'll give you everything I have--"

He caught his breath. "Yourself?" he asked on an inspiration that heldhim astonished, eager and translated. 

She looked up as if she had been blinded, then stiffly she moved herhead. "What do you mean?"

"Give me yourself. Oh, I've been mad tonight--for days--she made me. " Hepointed to the limp and gracious figure on the floor and leaned againstthe bed-rail. "Mad! And you, all the time, out there on the moor againstthe sky. Helen, promise!"

Her voice had no expression when she said, "I promised anything youasked for. Bring some water. "

But he still stood, dazed and trembling. 

"Bring some water, " she said again. 

He spilt it as he carried it. "Why didn't I see before? I did seebefore. On the moor, I watched for you You're beautiful. " His voicesank. "You're good. "

She was not listening to him. She dabbled water on Miriam's brow andlips and chafed her hands, but still she lay as if she were glad tosleep. 

"Poor little thing!" Helen said deeply and half turned her head. "Someof your brandy, " she commanded. "She is so cold. "

"I'll take her to the kitchen. "

"Is that woman in the house?" she asked sharply. 

"She's in bed, I suppose. "

"She must have heard--she must have known--and she didn't help!"

He put a hand to his forehead. "No, she didn't help. I'd meant to giveher up, and then--I found her here, and I'd been drinking. "

"Don't tell me! Don't tell me!" She twisted her hands together. "George, don't make me hate you. "

"No, " he said with a strange meekness. "Shall I take her to the kitchen?It'll be warm there, and the fire won't be out. I'll carry her. "

"But I don't like you to touch her, " Helen stated with a simplicity thathad its fierceness. 

"It's just as if she's dead, " he said in a low voice, and at Helen'sfrightened gasp, he added--"I mean for me. "

"Take her, " she said, and when he had obeyed she sat on her heels andstared at nothing. For her, a mist was in the room, but through it thereloomed the horrid familiarity of Halkett's bed, his washstand and a rowof boots. Why was she here? What had she done? She heard him askinggently, "Aren't you coming?" and she remembered. She had promised tomarry George because Miriam had been lying on the floor, because, yearsago, the woman lying alone in Pinderwell House had brought the Canipersto the moor where George lived and was brutal and was going to marryher. But it could not be true, for, in some golden past, before thisugliness fell between her and beauty, she had promised to marry Zebedee. She held her head to think. No, of course she had given him no promise. They had come together like birds, like bees to flowers--

"Aren't you coming?" Halkett asked again. 

She rose. Yes, here was her promised man. She had bought Miriam with aprice. She stumbled after him down the stairs. 

In the warmth of the kitchen, by the light of a glowing fire and asingle candle, Miriam's eyelids fluttered and lay back. 

"It's all right, darling, " Helen said. "You're quite safe. You're withHelen, with Helen, dear. "

Behind Miriam's eyes, thoughts like butterflies with wet wings werestruggling to be free. 

"Something happened. It was George. Has he gone away?"

"He isn't going to hurt you. He wants to take you home. "

"Don't let him. We'll go together, Helen. Soon. Not yet. Take care ofme. Don't leave me. " She started up. "Helen! I didn't say I'd marry him. I wouldn't. Helen, I know I didn't!"

"You didn't, you didn't. He knows. He frightened you because you teasedhim so. He just frightened you. He's here--not angry. Look!"

He nodded at her clumsily. 

"You see?"

"Yes. I'm glad. I'm sorry, George. "

"It doesn't matter, " he said. 

He looked at Helen and she looked full at him and she knew, when heturned to Miriam, that he still watched over herself. She couldrecognize the tenderness and wonder in his eyes, but she could notunderstand how they had found a place there, ousting greed and angerfor her sake, how his molten senses had taken an imprint of her toinstruct his mind. 

"Can you come now?" she said. 

"Yes. " Miriam stood up and laughed unsteadily. "How queer I feel!George--"

"It's all right, " he said. "I'll take you home. "

"But we're not afraid, " Helen said. "There's nothing to be afraid of onthe moor. " All possibility of fear had gone: her dread had been for someuncertain thing that was to come, and now she knew the evil and found init something almost as still as rest. 

In the passage, he separated her from Miriam. "I want to speak to you. "

"Yes. Be careful. "

"Tonight. In your garden. I'll wait there. Come to me. Promise that, too. "

"Oh, yes, yes, " she said. "That, too. "

He watched them go across the yard, their heads bent towards each other, and Helen's pale arm like a streak on Miriam's dress. He heard theirfootsteps and the shifting of a horse in the stables, and a mingledsmell of manure and early flowers crept up to him. The slim figures werenow hardly separable from the wood, and they were frail and young andtouching. He looked at them, and he was sorry for all the unworthythings he had ever done. It was Helen who made him feel like that, Helenwho shone like a star, very far off, but not quite out of reach. She wasthe only star that night. Not one showed its face among the clouds, andthere was no moon to wrinkle her droll features at the little men onearth. Helen was the star, shining in the larch-wood. He called hername, but she did not hear, and he seemed to be caught up by the soundand to float among the clouds. 

"It's like being converted, " he told himself, and he followed slowlyacross the moor. 

CHAPTER XXV

As the girls passed under the trees, Miriam began to cry. 

"Helen, if you hadn't come!"

"But I did. "

"Yes, yes. To see you there! It was--oh! And then I fainted. What didyou do to him?"

"We needn't talk about it. And don't cry. " She was afraid of having tohate this daring, helpless being who clung to her; yet she could hate noone who needed her, and she said tenderly, "Don't cry. It's over now. "

"Yes. I've lost my handkerchief. "

"Here's mine. "

"You're not angry with me, are you? How did you know I'd gone?"

"I think the house told me. Oh, here's the moor. How good to get to itout of that pit. Come quickly. Notya--"

"I can't come faster. Tell me what you said to him. Nothing I said wasany good. "

"I managed him. "

"And I couldn't. Suppose he catches me again. "

"He won't. Can't you understand that he may not want you any more? Letus get home. "

"I'm doing my best. I wish I were a man. A woman can't have fun. "

"Fun!"

"Oh, you're so good! I meant it for fun, and now he'll come after meagain. Of course he wants me. He's in love with me. "

"There's love and love, " Helen said. 

"And if you subtract one from the other--I don't know what I'msaying--there may be nothing left. If George does that little sum in themorning--"

"I think it's done already. "

"I hope so. I'm miserable. I wish the sea would come up and wash me andmake me forget. You're not holding me so lovingly as you did. In thekitchen you were sweet. "

"Is that better? I think the moor is like the sea. It's a great, cleanbath to plunge into. And here's the garden. That's another bath, alittle one, so dark and cold and peaceful. And the poplars. Soon therewill be leaves on them. " She stopped with a thin cry. "What hashappened? I left the house in darkness, and look now!" Every window gaveout light that fell in differing patterns on the grass. "Oh! what isit?" For an instant she thought the whole night's work must be some evilfancy, this brilliance as well as the sordid horror at the farm, andthen, as Miriam cried, "Is it the house on fire?" the other rushedacross the lawn, leaping the golden patches as though, indeed, theymight have burned her. 

Miriam tried to follow, but, weakness overcoming her, she sat down onthe lawn. Half drowsily, she was interested in the windows, for theirbrightness promised gaiety within the house and she bent her earexpectantly for music. There ought to have been music, sweet andtinkling, and people dancing delicately, but the lights were notdarkened by moving figures, and the only sound was Helen's voiceanxiously calling her in. 

Miriam was indifferent to the anxiety, and she did not want to rise: shewas comfortable on the soft, damp earth, and the night had been so longthat the morning must be near. If she stayed there, she would be sparedthe trouble of going to bed and getting up again, and when Helen calledonce more, she heard the voice as from a great way off, and answeredsleepily, "Yes, I'm coming, " but the next minute she was annoyed to findHelen standing over her. 

"Why didn't you come in? It's Notya. She has put lights in every room. She was afraid of the dark, she says. She couldn't find us. She has beentalking--oh, talking. Come and let her see you. "

"I wish things wouldn't go round and round. "

"You must go to bed, but first you must let her see you. She thinks youare not coming back. "

"And I nearly didn't. I won't see her if she's ill. "

"You must. She isn't--green, or anything. "

"I'm ill, too. I'm giddy. "

"Oh, can't you do this to help me? Haven't I helped you?"

"Oh, yes, you have! I'll come, but help me up. " Her laughter bubbledout. "I'm afraid you're having rather a busy night!"

Mildred Caniper was sitting on the edge of the bed. Swinging a foot, andwith her curly hair hanging to her shoulders, she had a very youthfullook. 

"So she has come back, " she said. Her voice was small and secret. "Ithought she wouldn't. She is like Edith. Edith went. And I was glad. Yes, for a little while. " Her tones grew mournful and she looked at thefloor. "But it hasn't been a happy thing for me. No. I have been veryunhappy. "

Miriam stood at the door and, holding on to it, she stared with fear andfascination at the strange woman on the bed, and from her throat therecame a tiny sound, like the beating of a little animal's heart. "Oh, oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh!"

Helen was murmuring to her stepmother: "Yes, dear, yes. Get into bed. It's late, and we are all going to bed. You are getting cold, you know. Let me lift your feet up. There! That's better. "

"Yes. " Mildred lay passive. She seemed to think and, in the pause, Miriam's ejaculations changed to sighs that ceased as Mildred said inthe sharp tones they welcomed now, "What are you both doing here? Go tobed. Helen, don't fuss. And let us have no more of this wandering aboutat night. "

They left the room like threatened children, and on the landing theytook each other's hands. 

"Is she mad?" Miriam whispered. "Are we all mad? What's happening to usall?"

"I think she was just--dazed. Come to bed. I'll help you to undress. "

"Once before you did. That night it rained--"

"Yes. Don't talk. "

"But if she goes out of her mind, will it be my fault? Because of notfinding us, and the house all dark? Will that be my fault, too?"

Helen was busy with strings and buttons. "How can we tell who doesthings?"

"She was talking about Mother. I wish I had a real, comfortable mothernow. It was horrible, but I wanted to hear more. I did, Helen. Didn'tyou?"

"No. I don't like seeing souls if there are spots on them. Shall I putout the light?"

"Yes. Now the darkness is going round. It will whirl me to sleep. I wantto go away. Do you think Uncle Alfred--? I'm frightened of this house. And there's George. I think I'd better go away in case he comes after meagain. "

A whistle like the awakening chirrup of a bird sounded from the garden, and Helen's voice quavered as she said, "We'll talk about it in themorning. "

Quietly she shut the door and went downstairs. She had a lighted candlein one hand, and a great shadow moved beside her--went with her to thedrawing-room, and stayed there while she wrote a letter to theaccompaniment of George's persistent whistling. She hardly needed it, and it stopped abruptly as she passed through the long window to thegarden. 

Among the poplars she found him waiting and at once she was aware ofsome change in him. His head was thrust forward from his shoulders, andhe searched greedily for her face. 

"I thought you'd given me the slip, " he muttered. 

She frowned a little at his use of words, yet what had he to do withher? She looked up at the bare branches and thought of Zebedee and themasts of ships. 

"This must be a secret, " she said through stiffening lips. "Come furtherfrom the house. " She led him to the garden door and opened it. "Outhere, " she whispered. 

The moor was like a tired, simple man asleep, yet it still kept itsquality of water, buoyant, moving and impetuous, and she felt that ithad swung her here and there amid its waves for many hours, and now hadleft her on a little shore, battered and bereft, but safe. 

"I can't stay, " she said softly. 

"I thought you wouldn't come, " he answered. He did not understand her:she gave no sign of pleading or withdrawal: he was sure she had no fear, and another certainty was born in him. 

"I can trust you, " he said with a sigh of peace. 

"Yes. "

"I thought you wouldn't come, " he said again. 

"But I'm here, you see. "

His voice rose. "I'd have got in. "

"It would have been quite easy. "

"Weren't you afraid?" he asked, and he found a memory of Miriam in herlaughter. "No, I wasn't afraid. "

"But you're going to marry me. "

"That was the bargain. "

Her passivity angered him. This dignity of submission put him in thewrong. She seemed to be waiting patiently and without anxiety for herrelease. Why should he give it? How could he give it? Would he deny Godin God's own presence?

He turned to look at her, and as they stood side by side, a foot ofearth between them, he could almost hear her breathing. Hersmoothly-banded hair and the clear line of brow and nose and chin mockedhim with their calm. He spoke loudly, but his voice dropped as the starto which he likened her might shoot across the heavens and disappear. 

"You make me think--of stars, " he said. 

Again she looked upward, and her tilted face was like a waning moon. "There are no stars tonight. I must go in. "

"But--tomorrow?" he said. 

"Tomorrow?"

"I shall see you tomorrow?"

The repetition of the word gave her its meaning. She took the letterfrom her belt and held it out to him. 

"No, no, " he said. 

"Won't you have it posted for me?"

"I--I thought it was for me, " he stammered. "Yes, I'll have it posted. "

"Will it go early?" she asked earnestly. 

"I'll take it down tonight. "

"Oh, there's no need of that. "

"I'd like to do it, " and touching his forehead with a childish gesture, he added, "I couldn't sleep. "

"It's morning already, " Helen said. 

He looked eastward. "Hours of darkness yet. "

"And you'll go down the road and back, before it's light. You needn't, George. "

"I want to think of you, " he answered simply, turning the letter in hishands. 

She moved to the door and stood against it. "George--" she said. She hadan impulse to tell him that his bargain was useless to him because shewas a woman no longer. She had been changed from living flesh and bloodto something more impalpable than air. She had promised to marry him, and she remained indifferent because, being no woman, she could notsuffer a woman's pain; because, by her metamorphosis, there was no fearof that promise's fulfilment. It seemed only fair to tell him, but whenhe came to her, she shook her head. 

"It was nothing, " she murmured. Bulky of body, virile of sense, he wasimmature in mind, and she knew he would not understand. 

"I must go now. Good-night. "

"Don't go, " he muttered. 

She stood still, waiting for the words that laboured in him. 

"I was mad, " he said at last. "She makes me feel like that. You--you'redifferent. "

He wanted help from her, but she gave him none, and again there was asilence in which Jim came through the door and put his head into Helen'shand. 

"Jim!" she said, "Jim!" Her thoughts went across a continent to bluewater. 

"I'd begun to love her, " he explained, and moved from one foot to theother. 

"George, I must go in. "

"But I don't love her now, " he added fiercely, with pride, almost withreassurance. 

She would have laughed if she had heard him, but her numbness had passedby and all her powers were given to resisting the conviction that shewas indeed Helen Caniper, born, to die, a woman; that Zebedee was on thesea, and had not ceased to love her, that she would have a tale to tellhim on his return, and a dishonoured body to elude his arms, but shecould not resist the knowledge, and under its gathering strength shecried out in a fury of pain that drove Halkett back a step. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

She did not answer. Her rage and misery left her weak and hopeless andthough for a bright, flaming instant she had loathed him, she was nowcareless of him and of herself because nothing mattered any more. 

She drooped against the door, and he approached her nervously, saying ashe went, "You're tired. You ought to go to bed. I'll take you to thehouse. "

That roused her and she looked at him. "No. Some one might hear. "

"I can tread softly. "

"Very well. " She halted him among the poplars. "No further. "

"I'll come tomorrow, " he whispered. 

"No, not tomorrow. Not until I tell you. I don't want any one to know. Don't come tomorrow. "

"Then come to me, " he said. "I wish you'd come to me. I'd like to seeyou coming through our wood and across the cobbles. And in the morning, the sun's on that side of the house. Helen, " he pleaded, "will youcome?" It was Miriam who had come before, a dark sprite, making andloving mischief, lowering him in his own regard until he had a longingto touch bottom and make her touch it, too; but if Helen came in hergrey frock, slipping among the trees like silver light, he knew shewould bring healing to his home and to his heart. 

"Will you?" he begged. "Will you, Miss Helen? D'you remember how I usedto call you that? Will you?"

"I don't know. "

"But I want you so, " he said; and when he would have touched her hefound her gone. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Her bargain had been made and must be kept and Zebedee would understand. He would not be angry with her: he had only been angry with her once, and he had always understood. He would feel her agony in that room atHalkett's Farm, with Miriam, white and stricken, on the floor, andGeorge Halkett, hot and maddened, on the bed, and he would know thathers had been the only way. 

These were her thoughts as she went about the house, hasping windows andbolting doors, with a dreary sense of the futility of caution. 

"For you see, Jim, the horse is stolen already, " she said. 

She did not forget to bid Jane good-night; she undressed and laid herclothes neatly in their place, and without difficulty she dropped into asleep as deep as her own trouble. 

She had the virtues of her defects, a stoicism to match her resolutions, and she was angered when she rose and saw the reflection of eyes thathad looked on sorrow. She shook her head at the person in the glass and, leaning from the window and finding the garden no less lovely for thetraffic of the night, she was enspirited by that example, and randownstairs to open the front door and let in the morning. Then sheturned to face the business of another day. 

She was amazed to find her stepmother in the kitchen, making pastry bythe window, to see the fire burning heartily and the breakfast-thingsready on a tray. 

"What are you doing?" she demanded from the doorway. 

Mildred Caniper looked round. Her eyes were very bright and Helen waitedin dread of the garrulousness of last night, but Mildred spoke with theold incisive tongue, though it moved slowly. 

"You can see what I am doing. "

"But you ought not to do it. "

"I refuse to be an invalid any longer. "

"And all yesterday you were in bed. "

"Yesterday is not today, and you may consider yourself second in commandagain. It is time I was about the house when you and Miriam choose tospend half the night on the moor. I was left in bed with a houseunlocked. "

"But Jim was there. "

"Jim! Although Dr. Mackenzie gave you the dog, Helen, I have not allthat faith in his invincibility. "

Helen smiled her appreciation of that sentence, though she did not likeher stepmother's looks. 

"I would rather trust Jim's teeth than our bolts and locks, and I toldhim to take care of you. "

"That was thoughtful of you!" Mildred said. She rolled her pastry, butit did not please her, and she squeezed the dough into a ball as sheturned with unusual haste to Helen. 

"You must not wander about at night alone. "

"But on the moor--!" Helen protested. 

"It's Miriam--Miriam--" the word came vaguely. "You must look afterher. "

"I do try, " Helen said, and hearing the strangeness of her own voice shecoughed and choked to cover it. 

"What does that mean?"

"What?" Helen's hand was at her throat. 

"You are trying to deceive me. Something has happened. Tell me at once!"

"I swallowed the wrong way, " Helen said. "It's hurting still. "

"I do not believe you. "

"Oh, but, Notya, you must. You know I don't tell lies. Why should yoube so much afraid for Miriam?"

"Because--Did I say anything? My head aches a little. In fact, I don'tfeel well. " The rolling-pin fell noisily to the floor. "Tiresome!" shesaid, and sank into a chair. 

When Helen returned with the medicine which Zebedee had left for suchemergencies, she found her stepmother beside the rolling-pin. Her mouthwas open and a little twisted, and she was heavy and unwieldy when Helenraised her body and made it lean against the wall. 

"But she won't stay there, " Helen murmured, looking at her. She was likea great doll with a distorted face, and while Helen watched her sheslipped to the floor with the obstinacy of the inanimate. 

Some one would have to go to Halkett's Farm. Helen stared at therolling-pin and she thought her whole life had passed in tending MildredCaniper and sending some one to Halkett's Farm. Yesterday she had doneit, and the day before; today and tomorrow and all the days to come shewould find her stepmother with this open, twisted mouth. 

She forced her way out of this maze of thought and rushed out to see ifGeorge, by chance, were already on the moor, but he was not in sight, and she ran back again, through the kitchen, with a shirked glance forMildred Caniper, and up the stairs to Miriam. 

"I can't go!" Miriam cried. "I'll go for John, but I daren't go toHalkett's. "

"John and Lily went with the milk this morning. You'll have to go forGeorge. Be quick! She's lying there--"

"Nothing will make me go! How can you ask it?"

Helen longed to strike her. "Then I shall go, and you must stay withNotya, " she said and, half-dressed, Miriam was hurried down the stairs. "And if you dare to leave her--!"

"I won't leave her, " Miriam moaned, and sat with averted face. 

Thus it was that George Halkett had his wish as the sun cleared bluemist from the larches, but Helen did not come stealing, shy andvirginal, as he had pictured her; she bounded towards him like a huntedthing and stood and panted, struggling for her words. 

He steadied himself against attack. No persuasion and no abuse wouldmake him let her go. The road he had trodden in the night knew his greatneed of her and now she caught his senses, for her eyes had darkened, colour was in her cheeks, and she glowed as woman where she had shone assaint. 

She did not see his offered hands. "It's Notya, again, George, please. "She had a glimpse of Mrs. Biggs peering between window curtains, and hertongue tripped over the next words. "S-so will you--can you be veryquick?"

"The doctor?"

"Yes. Dr. Mackenzie is away, but there's another there, and he mustcome. "

He nodded, and he did not see her go, for he was in the stableharnessing the horse and shouting to a man to get the cart. 

"You've got to drive to town like hell, William, and the sooner youbring the doctor the better for you. "

"I'll have to change my clothes. "

"You'll go as you are, God damn you, and you'll go now. "

He waited until the cart was bowling towards the road before he followedHelen so swiftly that he saw her dress whisk through the garden door. Heused no ceremony and he found her in the kitchen, where Miriam wassitting stiffly on a chair, her feet on one of its rungs, her neck andshoulders cream-coloured above the whiteness of her under-linen. Hehardly looked at her and he did not know whether she went or stayed. Hespoke to Helen:

"Do you want me to carry her upstairs? William's gone to town. I've cometo help you. "

"Then you've spoilt the game, George. It's always you who go to town andbring the doctor. Never mind. Yes. Carry her up. Don't step on therolling-pin. " She looked at it again. "She's not dead, is she?"

"No. "

"What is it, then?"

He stooped to lift the heavy burden, and she heard him say a wordmumblingly, as though ashamed of it. 

She moved about the room, crying, "A stroke! It's ugly. It's horrid. Astroke! Why can't they say a blow?"

He could not bear the bitterness of her distress. "Don't, don't, mydear, " he said, and startled her into quiet. 

 * * * * *

The doctor came and went, promising to return, and a nurse with largecrowded teeth assumed control over the sick-room. There was little to bedone; she sat on a chair by the window and, because of those excessiveteeth, she seemed to smile continually at Mildred Caniper's mockery ofdeath. 

Outside, a cold rain was falling: it splashed on the laurel leaves bythe gate and threw a shifting curtain across the moor. The fire in theroom made small noises, as though it tried to talk; the nurse bent overher patient now and then, but Mildred Caniper did not move. 

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Miriam sat on her feet in the big armchair:she was almost motionless, like one who has been startled into a postureand dare not move lest her fear should take shape. The rain darkenedthe room and filled it with a sound of hissing; a kettle whistled on thefire, and there was a smell of airing linen. 

Helen turned a sheet. "The nurse must have Christopher's bed, " she saidat last. "We must carry it in. "

"Who?"

"You and I. "

"I can't! I can't go in. I should--I should be sick! I can't. Helen, after last night--"

"Very well. Can you manage to go to Brent Farm and tell John? They oughtto be at home now. "

"But there's George. "

"He won't hurt you. "

"He'd speak to me if he saw me. "

"No. He took no notice of you this morning. "

"That was because I wasn't dressed. "

Helen laughed rather weakly and for a long time. 

"You're not really laughing!" Miriam cried. "This house is horrible. Youmaking that noise, and Notya upstairs, and that hideous nurse grinning, and George prowling about outside. I can't stay here. "

"Go to Brent Farm, then. You can tell John and stay there. Lily won'tmind. "

"Shall I? John would be angry. "

Helen made no reply as she moved quietly and efficiently about thekitchen, preparing food, setting things on a tray, turning the linen, working quickly but with no sign of haste. The rain splattered on thegravel path outside and clicked sharply into some vessel which stood bythe scullery door. 

A voice came unhappily from the pale face blotted against the chair. 

"Helen, what are you going to do about me?"

She turned in astonishment and stared at Miriam. 

"You said we were to talk about it. "

"I know. " What held her silent was the realization that while she feltherself helpless, under the control of some omnipotent will, here wasone who cried out to her as arbiter. It was strange and she wanted tolaugh again but, refusing that easy comment, she came upon a thoughtwhich terrified and comforted her together. She was responsible for whatshe had done; Zebedee would know that, and he would have the right, ifhe had the heart, to blame her. A faint sound was caught in her throatand driven back. She had to be prepared for blame and for the angerwhich so endeared him, but the belief that she was not the plaything ofmalevolence gave her the dignity of courage. 

"Helen, " said the voice again. 

"Yes. I wrote to Uncle Alfred yesterday--this morning. I shouldn't thinkhe could be here tomorrow, but the next day, if he comes--"

But blame or anger, how small they were in the face of this commongash--this hurt! She shut a door in her brain, the one which led intothat chamber where all lovely things bloomed among the horrors. AndZebedee, as she had always told him, was just herself: they shared. 

"Oh, you've done that? How wonderful! But--it's like running away. "

"I don't want you here. "

There was an exclamation and a protest. 

"Only because I couldn't be happy about you. "

"Because of George? No, I don't see how I can stay here, but there'sNotya. "

"You're no use, you see. "

"Oh--"

"If you can't even carry in that bed. "

"I'll try to go in, " she said, in a muffled voice. 

"I can ask the nurse. I don't want you to stay, but try, " she went ondispassionately, "try not to be silly any more. I shan't always be thereto--save you. "

"It was very dramatic. "

"Yes; just like a story, wasn't it?"

"Don't be so unpleasant. I still feel ill. It was horrid to faint. Ican't make out why Mrs. Biggs didn't stop you. "

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"N-no--"

"Neither do I. "

"But I can't make out--"

"Never mind. What does it matter? It's over. For you it's over. Butdon't play with people's lives any more, and ruin them. "

There was a pause, in which the room grew darker. 

"Do you think, " Miriam asked in an awed voice, "he minds so much?"

Helen moved the little clothes-horse and knelt before the fire and itsheat burnt her face while her body shivered under a sudden cold. Shethought of George, but not as an actor in last night's scenes; hermemory swung back, as his had often done, to the autumn night when theysat together in the heather, and his figure and hers became huge withportent. She had thought he was the tinker, and so, indeed, he was, andhe no doubt had mistaken her for Miriam, as latterly he had mistaken hisown needs. No, she was not altogether responsible. And why had Ruperttold her that tale? And why, if she must have a tinker, could she notdesire him as Eliza had desired hers?

"Oh, no, no!" she said aloud and very quickly, and she folded her armsacross her breast and held her shoulders, shrinking. 

"I don't think so either, " Miriam said. 

CHAPTER XXVII

Uncle Alfred in a trap and Rupert on foot arrived at the same moment onSaturday, and while Rupert asked quick questions about Mildred Caniper, the other listened in alarm. 

He was astonished to feel Helen's light touch leading him to the cornerwhere the hats were hanging, to hear her low voice in his ear. 

"Pretend that's why you've come!"

He whispered back, "Where is she?"

"In bed. "

"Miriam?"

"No, no. Dressing up for you!"

"Ah, " he said, relieved, but he felt he was plunged into melodrama. Nothing else could be expected of a family which had exiled itselfmysteriously in such a wilderness, but he felt himself uncomfortably outof place and he straightened his tie and gave his coat a correcting pullbefore he went into the schoolroom, where John and Lily were sitting bythe fire. 

"We're all waiting for the doctor, " Helen explained. 

"Ah!" Uncle Alfred said again, on a different note. He clasped his handsbehind his back and nodded, and in spite of this inadequate contributionhe conveyed an impression of stiff sympathy, and gave the youthfulgathering the reassurance of his age as they made a place for him by thefire. 

"I'm jolly glad you're here, " Rupert said cordially, and Uncle Alfred, not used to a conspirator's part, stole a glance at Helen. She wasstanding near him; her stillness was broken by constant tiny movements, like ripples on a lake; she looked from one face to another as thoughshe anticipated and watched the thoughts behind, and was prepared tocombat them. 

"I wish you'd sit down, " Lily said, as Helen went to the window andlooked out. 

"Yes, sit down, sit down, " said Uncle Alfred, and he stood up, pointingto his chair. 

"No; I'm listening, thank you, " Helen said. 

The nurse's heavy tramp thudded across the room above, and her steps hadsomething in them of finality, of the closing of doors, the shuttingdown of lids, the impenetrability of earth. 

Sitting next to John, with her arm in his, Lily moved a little. Her eyeswere full of pity, not so much for the woman upstairs, or for theCanipers, as because the emotions of these people were not the heartilyunmixed ones which she had suffered when her own mother died. 

"He's a long time, " Helen said. She went into the hall and passedMiriam, in a black dress, with her hair piled high and a flush of colouron her cheeks. 

"He's in there, " Helen said with a wave of her hand, and speaking thistime of Uncle Alfred. 

The front door stood open, and she passed through it, but she did not gobeyond the gate. The moor was changelessly her friend, yet George was onit, and perhaps he, too, called it by that name. She was jealous that heshould, and she did not like to think that the earth under her feetstretched to the earth under his, that the same sky covered them, thatthey were fed by the same air; yet this was not on account of anyenmity, but because the immaterial distance between them was so greatthat a material union mocked it. 

Evening was slipping into night: there was no more rain, but the groundsmelt richly damp, and seemed to heave a little with life eager to befree; a cloud, paler than the night, dipped upon the moor above BrentFarm and rose again, like the sail of a ship seen on a dark sea. Then alight moving on the road caught back Helen's thoughts and she went intothe house. 

"He's coming, " she said listlessly, careless of the use of pronouns. There was a pronoun on a ship, one on the moor, another driving up theroad, and each had an importance and a supremacy that derided a merename. 

She shut the schoolroom door and waited in the hall, but half an hourlater, she opened the door again. 

"It's good news, " she said breathlessly. "Do you want to speak to him, Rupert? She's going to live!"

She could not see her own happiness reflected. 

"Like that?" John asked roughly. 

"No, better, better. Always in bed, perhaps, but able to speak andunderstand. "

He lifted his big shoulders; Uncle Alfred flicked something from hisknee and, in the silence, Helen felt forlorn; her brightness faded. 

"And you'll be left here with her, alone!" Miriam wailed, at last. 

"Alone?" asked John. 

"Uncle Alfred's going to take me away, " Miriam said, yet she was notsure of that, and she looked curiously at him. 

"I want her to go, " Helen said quickly. 

John was still glowering at Miriam. "Take you away! You talk as if youwere a parcel!"

"I knew you would be angry, " she said. "You've always been hard on me, and you don't understand. "

"Well, it's Helen's affair. "

"You don't understand, " Miriam said again. She sat close to UncleAlfred, and he patted her. 

"Helen knows best, " Lily said cheerfully, for she suspected what she didnot know. "And we'll look after her. Come along, John. It's time we allwent to bed. "

"He'll grumble all the way home, " Miriam said with a pout. 

Rupert was still talking to the doctor: they had found some subject totheir taste, and their voices sounded loudly in the quiet house. Helenhad gone out to speak to Zebedee's old horse. 

"Now, tell me what's the matter, " Uncle Alfred said. 

"Didn't Helen tell you?"

"No. "

"Well, " she swayed towards him, "the fact is, I'm too fascinating, UncleAlfred. It's only fair to warn you. "

All the strain had left her face, and she was more beautiful than he hadremembered, but he now looked at her with the practical as well as theromantic eye, for his middle-aged happiness was to depend largely onthis capricious creature, and for an instant he wondered if he had notendangered it. 

"Probably, " he said aloud. 

"Aren't you sure of it?"

"Er--I was thinking of something else. "

"That, " she said emphatically, "is what I don't allow. "

He looked at her rather sternly, bending his head so that the eye behindthe monocle was full on her. She would never be as charming as hermother, he reflected, and with a start, he straightened himself on thethought, for he seemed to hear that remark being uttered by dull oldgentlemen at their clubs. It was a thing not to be said: it dated oneunmistakably, though in this case it was true. 

"We must have a talk. "

"A serious one?"

"Yes. "

She looked at him nervously, regardless of her effect. "Will you mindtaking care of me?" she asked in a low voice. 

"My dear child--no. "

"What is it, then?"

"I am trying to frame a piece of good advice. Well--er--this is the kindof thing. " He was swinging the eyeglass by its string. "Don't go outinto the world thinking you can conquer it: go out meaning to learn. "

"Oh, " Miriam said drearily. This meant that he was not entirely pleasedwith her. She wondered which of them had changed during these months, and characteristically she decided that it was he. 

"Are you certain you want me?" she asked sadly. 

"Quite certain, but you're not going to object to criticism, are you?"he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"Well then--" he began and they both smiled, simultaneously reassuredabout each other. 

"And will you take me with you when you go back? Perhaps on Monday?"

"If the mistress of the house approves. " This was addressed to Helen, who had entered. 

"On Monday, Helen, may I go?"

"Yes. But then we ought to have told the trap to come for you. "

"There's always George, " Miriam said with innocence. 

"Yes, he's always there. That's quite true, " Helen said, and she spokehollowly, as though she were indeed the shell she felt herself to be. 

"But, " Miriam went on, "it would be unkind to ask him. "

To Uncle Alfred's concern, Helen leaned towards her sister, and spokerapidly, in a hard, angry voice. 

"Stop saying things like that! They're not funny. They make youridiculous. And they're cruel. You've no respect--no respect for people. And George is better than you. He's sorry. That's something--a greatdeal. I'm not going to have him laughed at. "

"Now, now, " Uncle Alfred said feebly, but Helen had stopped, amazed atherself and at the loyalty which George evoked already. She knew, unwillingly, that it was a loyalty of more than words, for in her heartshe felt that, in truth, she could not have him mocked. She staredbefore her, realizing herself and looking into a future blocked byGeorge's bulk. She could not remember what she had been saying toMiriam; she looked at her, huddled in her chair against the storm, andat Uncle Alfred, standing with his back to the fire, jauntily swinginghis eyeglass to seem at ease. 

"Was I rude?" she asked. 

"No, just horrid. "

She went from the room slowly, through the passage and the kitchen intothe garden, and George's figure went before her. She looked up at thepoplars and saw that they would soon have their leaves to peep into thewindows and whisper secrets of the Canipers. 

"They knew, " she said solemnly, "they always knew what was to happen. "

Beyond the garden door she walked into a dark, damp world: mist wassettling on the moor; drops spangled her dress and rested softly on herface and hands. She shut her eyes and seemed to be walking throughemptiness, a place unencumbered by thoughts and people; yet she was notsurprised when she was caught and held. 

"Let go!" she said, without opening her eyes, and she was obeyed. 

"I've been waiting for you, " George said in a husky whisper. 

"But I didn't say I would come. "

She could hear him breathing close to her. "I can't see your eyes. You've got them shut. What's the matter? You're not crying?"

She opened them, and they were the colour of the night, grey and yetblack, but they were not wet. 

"I've been waiting for you, " he said again, and once more she answered, "I didn't say I would come. "

"I was coming to the door to ask about Mrs. Caniper, " he went on, stillspeaking huskily and very low. 

"Were you?"

"You wouldn't have liked that!"

"She is better. " Emptiness was becoming peopled, and she rememberedMildred Caniper in bed, and the nurse smiling when she meant to besympathetically sad, and Miriam, pitiful under scolding, but George wasonly the large figure that blocked the future: he was not real, thoughhe talked and must be answered. 

"I was coming to ask: do you hear?"

"You know now. "

"But there's more. Who's the old chap who drove up tonight? Your uncle, isn't it?"

Her mind, which had lain securely in her body out of reach of hurt, wasslowly being drawn into full consciousness; but he had to repeat hiswords before she answered them, and then she spoke with a haughtiness towhich Miriam had accustomed him. 

"So you have been watching?"

"Why not?" he asked defiantly. "I've got to watch. Besides, " he becameclumsy, shy, and humble, "I was waiting to see you. "

"I'm here. "

"But you're--you're like a dead thing. That night, in my room, you werealive enough. You sat there, with your mouth open, a little--I could seeyour teeth, and your eyes--they shone. "

His words were like touches, and they distressed her into movement, intoa desire to run from him. 

"I'm going in, " she said. 

"Not yet. "

"I must. "

He was hovering on the edge of sentences which had their risk: she couldfeel that he wished to claim her but dared not, lest she should refusehis claim. He found a miserable kind of safety in staying on the brink, yet he made one venture. 

"There are things we've got to talk about. "

"But not tonight. "

"You'll say that every night. "

"There's never really any need to talk about anything, " she said. 

He stammered, "But--you're going to marry me. I must make--makearrangements. "

She had her first real scorn of him. He was afraid of her, and shedespised him for it, yet she saw that she must keep him so. She couldhardly bring herself to say, "Do what you like, " but having said it, shecould add, with vehemence, "Don't bother me! I'm busy. "

"But--" he said, and looked down: and now she seemed to be caught in hisshame, a partner, and she had to wait for what he tried to say. 

He looked up, saying, "You promised. "

"Oh, I know. "

She did not go. Perhaps people lying side by side in their graves wouldtalk to each other like this, in voices muffled by their coffins andinarticulate because of fleshless lips, with words that had no meaningnow that life, which made them, was done. And again she felt that sheand George were moles, burrowing in the earth, scratching, groping forsomething blindly. 

She brought her hands together and shook them. 

"If only one could see!" she said aloud. 

"What is it?"

"I feel as if I'm in a dark room. "

"It's a dark night, " he said, and touched her wrist. "When shall I seeyou again? Tomorrow?"

"You can't see me now. "

"I can. Your hair has drops on it, and your face--"

"No!" she cried. "Don't tell me. Don't come with me. "

She ran from him at last, and he did not follow her. Like her, he wasbewildered, but for him she was a light he could not put out: for her hewas the symbol of that darkness which had fallen on life. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

The next day had its own bewilderment and confusion, and Helen learntthat high tragedy is not blackest gloom but a thing patched and streakedwith painful brightness, and she found herself capable of a gaiety whichmade Miriam doubly reproachful. 

"You've never been like this before, " she said, "and we might have hadsuch fun. And you shouldn't be like it now, when I'm going awaytomorrow. " She sat in her empty box, with her legs dangling over theside. "I'm not sure that I shall go. "

"You've only two pairs of stockings without holes in them, " Helen said. She was kneeling before Miriam's chest of drawers. 

"Doesn't matter. I shall have to buy heaps of things. D'you know, I'mafraid he's going to be strict. "

"Poor little man!"

"And when one begins to think about it seriously, Helen, will one likeit very much? Who's going to play with me? There'll be Uncle Alfred anda housekeeper woman. And do you know what he said?" She struggled fromthe box, shut down the lid and sat on it. "He said I must think I'mgoing into the world to learn. Learn!"

"I expect you'll want to. You won't like yourself so much when you meetother people. "

"And shan't I hate my clothes! And I have visions, sister Helen, of fourelderly gentlemen sitting round a whist-table, and me reading a book ina corner. So you see--no, I don't want to take that: give it toSamson--so you see, I'm a little damped. Well, if I don't like it, Ishall come back. After all, there's Daniel. "

"He's tired of you. "

She showed her bright, sharp teeth, and said, "He'll recover after arest. Oh, dear! I find I'm not so young and trustful as I was, and I'mexpecting to be disappointed. "

"The best thing, " Helen said slowly, sitting down with a lapful ofclothes, "is for the worst to happen. Then you needn't be troubled anymore. " She took a breath. "It's almost a relief. "

"Oh, I don't feel so bad as that, " Miriam explained, and Helen fell backlaughing loudly. 

"You've spilt all my clothes, " Miriam said, and began to pick them up. "And don't make such a noise. Remember Notya!"

Helen was on her side, her head rested on her outstretched arm, and herface was puckered, her mouth widened with the noise she made. 

"Oh, " she said, "you always think of Notya at such funny times. "

"Somebody has to, " Miriam replied severely, and Helen laughed again, andbeat her toes against the ground. Over her, Miriam stood, stern anddisgusted, clasping linen to her breast. 

"You're hysterical. Nurse will come in. In fact, I'll go and fetch her. She'll grin at you!"

"Is this hysterical? It's rather nice, " Helen giggled. "Let me laughwhile I can. There'll be no one to say such things when you are gone. "She sat up with a start, and seemed to instruct herself. "You're going, "she said, and faced the fact. 

Miriam threw her bundle on the bed and stood irresolute. For once, thethoughts of the two had kinship, and they saw the days before themdeprived of the companionship which had been, as it were, abortive, yetdear to both; necessary, it seemed now; but the future had new things init for Miriam, and for Helen it had fear. Nevertheless, it was Miriamwho cried through quivering lips, "Helen, I won't go!"

"You must, " she said practically. 

"Because of George?"

She nodded: it was indeed because of George, for how could she keep herpromise with Miriam in the house?

"And, after all, " Miriam said brightly, "there's Zebedee. I'm notleaving you quite alone. He'll be back soon. But--it's that I don't wantto do without you. I can't think how to do it. "

"I know, " Helen said, and added, "but you'll find out. "

"And John--"

"Never mind. John doesn't know about--things. Let's pack. "

And while Mildred Caniper lay on one side of the landing where thePinderwells were playing quietly, Helen and Miriam, on the other, laughed at the prospect before them and made foolish jokes as theyfilled the trunk. 

It was harder, next day, than Helen had guessed to hold Miriam's hand ingood-bye, to kiss her with a fragile, short-lived kiss, to watch herclimb into the trap and to hear her box banged into its place by thedriver's seat, with an emphatic noise that settled the question of hergoing. 

It was a cold morning and the wind bustled as though it had an interestin this affair; it caught Miriam's skirt as she stood on the trap step, and lifted the veil floating from her hat, fluttered the horse's maneand disordered Helen's hair. It was like a great cold broom trying tosweep these aliens off the moor, and, for a moment, Helen had more pityfor Miriam than for herself. Miriam was exiled, while she stayed athome. 

She looked up at the house front and heard the laurels rattling, andround her she saw the moor spread clear-coloured under the east wind. Halkett's high wood stood up like ranks of giants set to guard her and, though she saw them now as George's men, she had no fear of them. 

"Helen!" Miriam called to her. 

She went forward and stood at the carriage door. "Yes?"

"Helen--we're going. Do you remember the first time we bathed in thesea? The wind was so cold, like this, before we went into the water. Wenearly ran back. That's how I feel now. "

"But we didn't go back. "

"Oh! here's Uncle Alfred. "

"And we learnt to swim. "

"Yes. Good-bye. Kiss me again. "

Helen stood quite still with her hands by her sides, while the carriagebumped over the track, stopped on the road that John and Lily might saytheir farewells, and slowly went on again until it was out of sight andshe saw the road left empty. It looked callous, too, as though it didnot care what came or went on it, and as she looked about her, Helendiscovered that she was in a desert world, a wilderness of wind anddead, rustling heather and angry laurel leaves, of empty houses andwomen whose breath whistled through their distorted mouths. And thegiants, standing so great and black against the sky, were less to guardher than to keep a friend from attempted rescue. 

She raised her arms and opened her hands in a gesture of avowal. No onewould ever rescue her, for, by her own act, she would be chained morefirmly than Andromeda when Zebedee next came up the road. 

"I must get it over, " she whispered quickly, and she sat down where shehad stood. She had to keep her promise, and now that there was no one inthe way, the thing must be done before Zebedee could come and fight forher, lest people should be hurt and precious things broken: her word, and peace, and the beauty of the moor. Yet things were broken already:life limped; it would never go quite smoothly again. 

She wondered what God was doing in His own place; it seemed that He hadtoo much to do, or had He been careless at the beginning of things andlet them get out of hand? She was sorry for Him. It must be dreary tolook down on His work and see it going wrong. He was probably looking ather now and clicking His tongue in vexation. "There's Helen Caniper. Sheought to have married the doctor. That's what I meant her to do. What'sgone wrong? Miriam? I ought to have watched her. Dear, dear, dear! Ioughtn't to have set them going at all if I couldn't keep themstraight. " So her thoughts ran as she sat with her head bowed to herknees, but she remembered how, in George's room that night, with Miriamon the floor, she had called to God without premeditation, with thenaturalness of any cry for help, and in a fashion, He had heard her. Noone had taught her to pray and until then she had called on no god butthe one behind the smoke. Perhaps this other one had a power which shecould not understand. 

She looked up, and saw a sky miraculously arched and stretching beyondsight and imagination, and she thought, simply enough, that, having madethe sky, God might be tired. And surely He had proved Himself: a beingwho had created this did not make small mistakes with men. It was somehuman creature who had failed, and though it seemed like Miriam, mightit not be herself? Or Mildred Caniper, or some cause beyond MildredCaniper, going back and back, like the waves of the sea? It wasimpossible to fix the blame, foolish to try, unnecessary to know it. Thething had happened: it might be good, yet when she heard Halkett's voicebehind her, she was only conscious of bitter evil. 

"I want to talk to you, " he said. 

"Yes?"

He came into her view and looked down scowlingly. "I don't know whatyou've been up to, but I'd better tell you to begin with that I'm not afool. "

She frowned at his manner, but she said patiently, "I don't know whatyou mean. "

"You're clever. "

"No. "

"Then why have you got rid of her like that?"

"Are you speaking of my sister?"

"Yes, I am. I want to know why you've sent her off. "

"I don't think it's your affair, but I will tell you. She was not happyhere. If she had been happy, she would not have behaved foolishly withyou. "

"Ah! I thought you'd come to that. I see. "

"What do you see?"

"Why you've got rid of her. "

"I suppose you are hinting something, " she said wearily. "Please don'tdo it. I cannot--I cannot possibly be polite, if you are notstraightforward. And please be quick, because I have a lot to do. "

He flushed at this gentle hectoring, but he could not still hiscuriosity. 

"I want to know, " he said slowly, "what your little idea is aboutme--about me--and you. Are you going to try backing out of it, now thatyou have her safe?"

She had not thought of it; her face showed that, and he did not need theassurance of her quiet words. 

"I was afraid, " he muttered, half abashed. "I thought you'd take achance. "

"I couldn't take one unless you offered it, " she said. 

There were thoughts behind his eyes; he seemed to waver, and shesteadied her own face for fear of doing the one thing that would notmove him. Now she did not pray: she had a dread of asking for herself, lest God, in punishment, should grant the prayer and let worse follow. Escape was only to be made through a door of George's opening, and sheknew he would never let her through, but she looked at the clouds andwaited for him to speak. 

His words were heralded by guttural noises in his throat. 

"I want you, " he said at last, with the simplicity of a desire forbread. "And there isn't any need to wait. I'm going to town today. I'llsee about it. In three weeks--"

She said nothing; she was still watching the clouds; they were likebaskets overbrimming with heaped snow. 

He came nearer. "I'm going to get a ring. And, after all, we needn'twait three weeks. I'll get a licence. What kind of ring?"

Zebedee's ring was hanging on a ribbon round her neck, and she put ahand to her throat and pressed the hard stones against her skin. 

"I suppose one has to have a wedding ring. "

"I meant--another kind, " he said. 

"Is it worth while for such a little time?" she asked and did not lookat him. 

"There's afterwards. "

"Yes. There's afterwards. " She might have been lingering on the wordswith love, but suddenly she rose and stamped a foot as though to crushthem, and cried out, "I will have no ring at all! Neither one nor theother!"

"You can't get married without a ring, " he said stupidly. It pleased himto see her thus: she was less distant from him. 

"Very well. Marry me with one. I will not wear it afterwards. "

"I don't care about that, " he muttered. He was looking at her, peeringin the half-blind fashion he used towards her. "Helen--I was awake halfthe night. "

She stared at him. It would not have troubled her if he had never sleptagain. It was absurd of him to think she cared whether he slept orwaked. 

"Thinking of you--" he added, and seemed to wait for some reward. 

"I am going in, " was all she said. 

"Not yet. That's all you ever say to me. I wish you'd have a ring. "

"But I will not!"

"Something, then, " he begged. 

"What do such things matter?" she cried, and hated her ungraciousness asshe heard it. "If it will make you happy, " she conceded. "Good-bye, George. The doctor will soon be here, and there is everything to do. "

"Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Oh, yes. " She passed into the house and up the stairs, and she did notlook back to see if he had followed. 

He found himself at a loss in the big house which seemed very empty. There was not a sound in it but the ticking of the clock and, upstairs, Helen's movements, which were few and quiet. He realized that he waspractically alone with her, and though he listened earnestly, he couldnot tell exactly where she was, and at any moment she might comeslipping down the stairs before he knew she was at the head of them. Thefancy pleased him; it kept him poised for her; it would be fine, hethought, to play at hide-and-seek with her, to search the old housewhile she ran from him, to hear the clicking of a door or an unwarystep, and at last to catch her in his arms, in the dark of a winternight. 

He waited, but she did not come, and, understanding that his presence inthe hall might well keep her upstairs, he wandered into the kitchen. 

The room was neat, but a pile of dirty plates and dishes awaitedwashing, and having looked at them thoughtfully, he took off his coat, and he was working in the scullery when Helen appeared. Already he hadfilled the scuttles and the kettles. 

"Thank you very much, " she said, in a kind of wonder. He was a differentperson now, and she was touched by the sight of this careful dealingwith mop and plates, by his puckered brow and lips. He was like a child, and she did not wish to see him so. If he continued simple, she mightgrow fond of him, and that, she thought, would be disloyalty to Zebedee. To marry George without love, affection, friendship or respect was onlyto pay the price he had demanded; but to feel kindness for him, eventhat human kindness she could seldom refuse to any one, was to make thesacrifice less complete, to cloud, in some way, the honesty of the eyeswhich would have to look at Zebedee when he learnt what she had done. 

"It's kind, George, but don't do it. "

"I'm slow, but I can manage. "

"Splendidly, but I can do it. "

"You can't do everything. "

Her face was pinched as she said, "I'm glad to do it. "

He straightened the big back he was bending in her service. "Let mehelp. I'll be here to light the kitchen fire tomorrow. "

"There's no need: Mrs. Samson is coming, I've promised to have her everyday. "

"Samson is my man. "

"I know. " Lines were beginning to show between her brows. "George, nobody need be told. "

Again he straightened himself, but now he seemed to threaten with hisbulk. "I'd feel safer if you weren't so secret. "

"Can't you trust me?" she said. "How often must I ask you that?"

He had a slow way of flushing to the eyes. "I'm sorry, " he said humbly, as he used his thumb nail on a plate. 

She was irritated by his meekness, for now he was not childlike. Shefelt his thoughts circling round her in a stubborn determination topossess, even, if it must be, through his own submission, but she hatedhim less for that than for his looks, which, at that moment, werewithout definite sex. He looked neither man nor woman: his knees wereslightly bent; his face was red, and his nail still scraped patiently onthe plate. Since she must marry him, she would have him as masculine ashe could be, so that therein she might find shelter from the shame ofbeing yoked to him. 

Her cheeks grew cold in amazement at her own thought, and her mindshrank from it. She felt that all the blood in her body was dropping toher feet, and they were heavy as she moved towards the door. 

"Are you going?" he asked her. 

"I must watch for the doctor. "

She had the mind of a slave, she told herself, the mind of a slave, andshe deserved no better than to be one. 

She wrapped a grey cape about her and sat outside the garden gate. Thewind was strong enough to lean against, stronger than man or anything hehad made. Its freshness seemed to get beneath her skin, into her mind, to clean every part of her. Its action had a swiftness that preventedthought, and she was content to sit there till the doctor came, thoughthe nurse had gone to bed in Christopher, and Mildred Caniper wasalone. If she could see through those closed lids, she would not mind:she must know how terrible it was to sit and watch her immobility. 

The postman came before the doctor and brought a letter with a foreignstamp, and for a long time she held the envelope unopened between herpalms. Her body felt like a great heart beating, and she was afraid toread what Zebedee had written, but at last she split the envelope andspread the sheets, and forgot George Halkett in the scullery and MildredCaniper in bed: she did not hear the calling of the peewits or themelancholy of the sheep; she heard Zebedee's voice, clear-cut and quick, saying perfect things in ordinary tones. He told her of the sea thatsometimes seemed to change into the moor, and of the sails that swelledinto the big clouds they knew; he told her that though there was neverany one who could claim likeness to her, it did not matter because shenever left him, and that, in spite of her continuing presence, andbecause he was well again, he thought he would come home by land toreach her sooner. 

She spoke aloud, but her forehead was on the letter on her knee. 

"No, don't, Zebedee--darling--dearest--lover. Don't come any sooner. Idon't want you to have more days of knowing than you need. "

CHAPTER XXIX

The days of that week were marked by little changes for the better inMildred Caniper's condition, by little scenes with George. Helen neverwent on to the moor without finding him in wait for her, and always shewent as to some unworthy tryst, despising herself for the appeasementshe meted out to him, daring to do nothing else. Once more, she saw himas some animal that might be soothed with petting, but, thwarted, wouldturn fierce and do as he would with her. Her dignity and friendship kepthim off; he did not know how to pass the barrier, and to lock materialdoors against him would have been to tempt him to force the house. Sheknew that in this matter cowardice was safety, but as the days creptforward, she wondered how long the weapon would serve her. 

Rupert came on Saturday and brought sanity into a disordered world, andwhen he entered the house she caught his arm and held to it. 

"Have you been as lonely as all that?" he asked. 

"Not a bit lonely, but you're so nice-looking, " she explained, "and soalive. And Notya is only coming alive slowly. It's like watchingsomething being born. You're whole. "

"And you're rather embarrassing. "

"I want you to talk to me all the time you're here. Tell me things thathave nothing to do with us. Rupert, I'm sick of us. " She dropped on to achair and whispered, "It's an enchanted house!"

"Are you the princess?"

"Yes. Be careful! I don't want Jane to know. "

He glanced up the stairs. "The prince is coming soon. "

She ignored that and went on: "Nurse is an ogress. "

"By Jove, yes! Why couldn't they send some one who looks like aChristian?"

"I believe she'll eat me. But I shouldn't see that, and I can't bear tosee her eating anything else. D'you know?"

"Rather. That kind of thing oughtn't to be allowed. "

"She's very kind. She calls me 'dear' all the time, but Notya will hateher when she notices the teeth. Will you go up to her now? I have to--Iwant to go out for a little while. Then we can have the rest of the dayto ourselves. "

He lifted his eyebrows oddly. "Why not?"

"I mean I needn't go out again. "

"Where are you going now?"

"Just for a walk. I must have a walk. "

"Good girl. I'll look after the family. "

She took her cloak from its peg and slipped through the garden. "I don'ttell the truth. I'm deceitful, " she said to herself, and when she sawGeorge, she hated him. 

"I've been here for hours, " he said as she approached. 

"There was no need to wait. "

"I'm not grudging the time. "

"Why speak of it then?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't come. I brought a coat for you to sit on. Theground's wet. "

"I don't want to sit. I want to walk and walk into something soft--softand oblivious. "

"But sit down, just a minute. I want to show you something. " His handshook as he put something into hers and, clearing his throat, saidshyly, "It's a swallow. "

"A swallow?"

"A brooch. "

"It's pretty. "

"Let me pin it on for you. "

"No, no, I can't--it's much too good for this plain frock, and I mightlose it. Haven't you a case for it? There. Put it in your pocket, please. Thank you very much. "

"I don't believe you like it. "

"Yes, I do. "

"Then let me put it on. I'd like to see you wearing it. "

"Oh, if you must, " she said. 

He took it from its place; his fingers were slow and clumsy, his faceclose to hers, and with the brooch pinned to her, she hated him morethan she had done when he held Miriam in his mad arms. 

"I've the ring in my pocket, too, " he said. "Next week--Did you hear me?Sometimes--sometimes you look deaf. "

"Yes, I did hear. "

She shook herself and rose, but he caught a hand. "I want to take youright away. You look so tired. "

"I am not tired. "

"I shall take care of you. "

The limp hand stiffened. "You know, don't you, that I'm not going toleave my stepmother? You are not thinking--?"

"No, no, " he said gently, but the mildness in his voice promised himselfpossession of her, and she snatched away her hand. 

"I must have exercise. I'm going to run. "

"Give me your hand again. "

"There is no need. "

"You'll stumble. " He did not wait for her assent, and for that and forthe strength of his hold she liked him, and, as she ran, and her bloodquickened, she liked him better. She did not understand herself, for shehad imagined horror at his nearness, but not horror pierced through witha delight that shrank. She thought there must be something vile in her, and while she ran she felt, in her desperate youth, that she wasaltogether worthless since she could not control her pleasure to thisswift movement supported by his hand. She ran, leaping over stones andheather and, for a short time that seemed endless, her senses had theirway. She was a woman, young and full of life, and the moor was wide anddark, great-bosomed, and beside her there ran a man who held her firmlyand tightened, ever and again, his grasp of her slipping fingers. Soonit was no effort not to think and to feel recklessly was to escape. Their going made a wind to fan their faces; there was a smell of dampearth and dusty heather, of Halkett's tweeds and his tobacco; the windhad a faint smell of frost; there was one star in a greenish sky. 

She stopped when she could go no further, and she heard his hurriedbreathing and her own. 

"How you can run!" he said. "Like a hare! And jump!"

"No! Don't!" She could not bear his personalities: she wished she werestill running, free and careless, running from the shame that now camecreeping on her. "No, no!" she cried again, but this time it was to herown thoughts. 

"What have I done?" he asked. 

"Nothing. I was speaking to myself. "

He never could be sure of her, and he searched for words while hewatched the face she had turned skywards. 

"Helen, you're different now. "

"And you like me less. "

"I always love you. "

She looked at him and smiled, and very slowly shook her head. 

"Oh, no, " she said pleasantly. "Oh, no, George. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Perhaps it's a riddle. You can think about it. "

"Ah--you--you make me want to shake you!" He gripped her shoulders andsaw her firm lips loosened, a pale colour in her cheeks, but somethingin her look forced him to let her go. 

"I can't hurt you, " he said. 

She smiled again, in a queer way, he thought, but she was always queer:she looked as if she knew a joke she would not tell him, and, inrevenge, he had a quick impulse to remind her of his rights. 

"Next week, " he said, and saw the pretty colour fading. 

No one could save the captive princess now. Sunday came and Rupert went;Monday came and Mildred Caniper spoke to Helen; Tuesday was Helen'sbirthday: she was twenty-one. No one could save her now. On Wednesdayshe was to meet George in the town. 

She had asked Lily to stay with Mildred Caniper. 

"I have some shopping to do, " she said, and though her words were true, she frowned at them. 

Lily came, and her skirts were blown about as she ran up the track. 

"It's a bitter wind, " she said. "We've had a bad winter, and we're goingto have a wicked spring. "

"I think we are, " Helen said as she fastened on her hat. 

"You'll be fighting the wind all the way into town. Need you go today?"

"I'm afraid I must, " Helen said gravely. 

"Well, perhaps the change will do you good, " Lily said, and Helen smiledat her reflection in the mirror. "Don't hurry back. "

The smile stayed on Helen's lips, and it was frozen there when, havingforced her way against a wind that had no pity and no scorn, she did hershopping methodically and met George Halkett at the appointed place. 

"You've come!" he said, and seized her hand. "You're late. "

"I had to do some shopping, " she said, putting back a blown strand ofhair. 

"You're tired. You should have let me drive you down. " In the shadows ofthe doorway, his eyes were quick on every part of her. "I wish I'd madeyou. And you're late. Shall we--hadn't we better go upstairs?"

"There's nothing to wait for, is there?"

Their footsteps made a loud noise on the stairs, and in a few minutesHelen found herself on them again. George had her by the arm, but heloosed her when she put the ring into his hand. 

"Helen--" He checked himself, accepting her decree with a patience thatmade her sorry for him. 

"You're going to drive back with me?" His anxiety to please hercontrolled his eagerness: his wish to tend her was like a warm butstifling cloak, and she could not refuse him. 

"They'll think we've met by chance, " he said. 

"Who will?"

"Any one that sees us. "

"I'm not concerned with what people think. "

"That's all right then. Nor am I. Will you wait here or come with me tothe stable?"

"I'll wait, " she said. 

People with blue faces and red-rimmed eyes went past her, and there wasnot one of them she did not envy, for of all the people in that town, she alone was waiting for George Halkett. He came too soon, and held outa helping hand which she disdained. 

"My word!" he said, "the wind is cold. Keep the rug round you. "

"No, I don't like it. " She pushed it off. "I can't bear the smell ofit. "

"I'm sorry, " he said. "It's clean enough. "

"I didn't think it was dirty, " she explained, and a few minutesafterwards, she added, "I'm sorry I was rude, George. "

"You're tired, " he said again. 

"Drive quickly, won't you?"

He whipped up the horse, and the wind roared behind them; they passedmen and women staggering against it. 

"Will there be snow?" she asked him. 

He bent his ear to her, and again she shouted, "Will there be snow?"

"Feels--rather like it, " he boomed back. "I never knew such a year. Andthey'd begun burning the heather!"

"Had they? Did you say burning heather? Then the fires will be put out. George, they'll be put out!"

He nodded, thinking this a small thing to shout about, in such a wind. 

She had forgotten about the fires, but now she looked at the grey skyand hoped the snow would come. She imagined the first flake hissing onthe fire, and more flakes, and more and more, until there was no smoketo veil the god, only a thick wet blanket for his burial. She had lovedhis moor, yet he had forsaken her; she had been afraid to hope, she hadgone humbly and she had prayed, but now she need pay him no more homage, for she had nothing more to fear, and she whispered to the snow to hurryand avenge her. 

When they were nearly home, George spoke again. "Are you very cold?"

"I'm warmer now. "

"I'll drive you up the track. "

"I'd rather get out here. Stop, George, please. "

"Wait till I help you down, " he said, and jumped off on the other side. 

"My feet are numb, " she said, looking at the arms he held for her. 

"I'll catch you. "

"I'm not so bad as that. " She climbed down stiffly while he watched her, and in some way she felt herself more injured by the quality of his gazethan she would have been by his clasp. Without looking at him, she saidgood-bye and made a step or two. 

"But I shall see you again. "

"One--one supposes so!"

"I mean tonight. "

"I--don't know. "

"Leave the blind up so that I can see if you're alone. "

She made no answer, and when she had run lamely up the track, she turnedat the door to see her husband still standing in the road. 

Lily met her in the hall and said, "Mrs. Caniper's asleep, and she'sbetter, my dear. She seems happier, somehow. So George Halkett broughtyou home. A good thing, too. Come into the kitchen and get warm. I'llmake some tea and toast for you. You're frozen. Here, let me take offyour boots. Sit down. "

"I can do it, thank you. "

"But you're going to let me, just to please me. "

Helen submitted and lay back. "You look nice with the firelight on you. "

"Hadn't that man a rug?"

"What? Oh, yes, yes. " The warmth and peace of the kitchen were almoststupefying. She shut her eyes and felt soft slippers being pushed on toher feet; the singing of the kettle became one sound with the howling ofthe wind, and Lily's voice dragged her from the very brim of sleep. 

"Here's a slice, and the kettle's boiling. A good thing John isn't here!He says it's the water, not the kettle. "

"How fussy of him!"

"But he's right. "

"Always?"

"Not a bit of it. "

"I'm glad of that. Would it have made much difference to you if youhadn't married him?"

"D'you think I don't care enough for him?"

"Of course I don't. "

"Now look, you've made me burn the toast. "

"Scrape it. I wanted to know--how much he filled of you. "

"I don't know. I never thought about it. I wouldn't have been lovesick, anyway. I had my work to do. "

"I expect that's how men feel. I sometimes think nothing's worthstruggling for. "

"Oh, but it is. I'm always fighting. I saved two lambs last week. "

"That's different. I meant--for happiness. People struggle and getnothing. It's such a little life. Seventy years, perhaps. Theypass--somehow. "

"But if you've ever had the toothache, you know how long an hour can be. What's the matter with you?"

"I'm just thinking. "

"Unhappy?"

"No. "

"When will Zebedee be back?"

"In about ten days. "

"Are you feeling he'll never come?"

"I'm sure he'll come. "

"Well then--"

"Perhaps it's the wind, " Helen said. "You're very good to me. "

"Oh, I'm fond of you, " Lily said. 

"Are you fond enough to kiss me?" Helen asked. She wanted a touch atwhich she need not shudder, and surely it was fitting that some oneshould kiss her on her wedding-day. 

CHAPTER XXX

Soon after nine o'clock, Helen bade Mildred Caniper and the nursegood-night and went downstairs with Jim close at her heels. 

"We're going to sit in the kitchen, James. I'll get my sewing. "

She hesitated at the window: the night was very dark, but she could seethe violent swaying of the poplars, and she thought the thickening oftheir twigs was plain and, though it was April already, it was going tosnow. She touched the tassel of the blind, but she did not pull on it, for she would not anger George with little things, and she left thewindow bare for his eyes and the night's. 

"Keep close to me, Jim, " she said as she sat and sewed, and she strokedhim with a foot. She could hear no sound but the raging wind, and whenthe back door was opened she was startled. 

"It's me, " George said as he entered. 

"I didn't hear you coming. "

"I've been looking through the window for a long time. " He went to thefireside. "Didn't you know? I hoped you'd be looking out for me, but youweren't anxious enough for that. "

"Anxious?"

"Well--eager. "

"Of course I wasn't. Why should I be?"

"You're my wife--and wives--"

"You know why I married you, George. "

"You're married, none the less. "

"I'm not disputing that. "

"I suppose you despise me for--getting what I wanted. "

"I only wonder if it was worth while. "

"I'll make it that. "

"But you won't know until your life is over, until lots of lives areover. "

"I'll get what I can now. "

She nodded lightly, and her coolness warmed him. 

"Helen--"

"Why don't you sit down?"

"I don't know. I wish you wouldn't sew. "

Without a word, she folded her work and gave it to him, and when he hadput it down he knelt beside her, holding the arms of the chair so thathe fenced her in. 

"You don't understand, you can't understand that night's work, " he said. "I want to tell you. You--you were like an angel coming down into theracket. You took away my strength. I wanted you. I forgot about Miriam. If I'd only known it, I'd been forgetting her every day when I saw youwalking with the dog. You think I was just a beast, but I tell you--"

"I don't think that. I can't explain unless you give me room. Thank you. You were a beast with Miriam, not with me. "

He sat stiffly on his chair and murmured, "That's just it. And now, yousee--"

"Yes, I do. "

"But you don't like me. "

"I might. "

"You shall, by God!" He seemed to smoulder. 

"I hope so, " she said quietly, and damped the glow. 

"You'll let me come here every night and sit with you?"

"Yes. "

"And Mrs. Caniper, can she hear?"

"No, she is in the front of the house. "

"And Jim won't mind?"

"Oh, no, Jim won't. "

"Nor you?"

"You can get the big old chair from the schoolroom and bring it here. That shall be yours. "

He sat there for an hour, and while he smoked she was idle. His eyeshardly left her face, but hers were for the fire, though sometimes shelooked at him, and then she saw him behind tobacco smoke, and once shesmiled. 

"What's that for?" he asked. 

"I was thinking of the fires on the moor--the heather burning. "

"What made you think of that?"

"You--behind the smoke. If the snow comes, the fires will be put out, but there will still be your smoke. "

"I don't know what you're talking about, " he said. 

"I like to see you--behind the smoke. "

"I'm glad you're pleased with something. "

"I like a fair exchange, " she said, and laughed at him, "but I shalloffer up no more prayers. "

"I don't understand this joke, but I like to see you laugh. " Possessionhad emboldened him. "Helen, you're pretty. "

"I'm sleepy. It's after ten. Good-night. "

"I'll come tomorrow. "

"But not on Saturday. Rupert comes home then. "

"He goes on Sunday night?"

"Yes. " She locked the door on him, blew out the light, and ran upstairs. She thought Mr. Pinderwell passed her with no new sorrow on his face. "It's worse for me, " she said to him. "Jane, it's worse for me. "

She went cautiously to her window and peeped through. She saw Georgestanding on the lawn, and tremblingly she undressed in darkness. 

The next day, Mildred Caniper called Helen to her side. 

"I feel--rested, " she said. Her voice had for ever lost its crispness, and she spoke with a slovenly tongue. "I don't like strangers--lookingat me. And she--she--"

"I know. She shall go. Tomorrow I'll sleep with you. "

Her heart lightened a little, and through the day she thought of MildredCaniper's room as of a hermitage, but without the nurse the house was somuch emptier of human life that it became peopled with the thoughts ofall who had lived in it; and while Helen waited for George's coming, shefelt them moving round her. 

There were the thoughts of the people who had lived in the house beforeMr. Pinderwell, and these were massed and indistinct, yet the moretroubled; they were too old for form, too young for indifference, andthey thronged about her, asking for deliverance. She could not give it, and she was jostled by a crowd that came closer than any one of fleshand blood: it got inside her brain and frightened her. The thoughts ofMr. Pinderwell were familiar, but now she could better understand hiswild young despair, the pain of his lonely manhood, the madness of hisold age. Yet, when she thought of him, she said again, "It's worse forme. " Mr. Pinderwell had not been obliged to marry some one else, and, though he did not know it, his children lived. Nearer than his thoughts, but less insistent than the formless ones that pressed about her, begging shamelessly, were those of Mildred Caniper. Helen saw them inthe dining-room where they had been made, and they were rigid undersuffering, dignified, but not quite lost to humour, and because she didnot know their cause, because their creator lay upstairs, dead to suchactivities, Helen had a horror of them that made her watch the clock forGeorge's hour. She was less afraid of George than of these shapeless, powerful things, this accumulated evidence of what life did with itsown; and until he came she talked to Jim, quickly and incessantly, careless of what she said, if words could calm her. 

"Jim, Jim, Jim! I must say something, so I'll say your name, and thenother things will come. I do not intend to be silly. I won't let you besilly, Helen. You mustn't spoil things. It's absurd--and wicked! Andthere's snow outside. It's so deep that I shan't hear him come. And Iwish he'd come, Jim. Funny to wish that. Jim, I'm afraid to turn myhead. It feels stiff. And I ought to go upstairs and look at Notya'sfire, but I don't like the hall. That's where they all meet. And I don'tknow how I dare say these things aloud. I'll talk about something else. Suppose I hadn't you? What shall we have for dinner tomorrow? There's abone for you, and the jelly for Notya, and for me--an egg, perhaps. Boiled, baked, fried, poached, scrambled, omeletted? Somehow, somehow. What shall I say next? Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, andall that kind of thing. That will take a long time. I know I sound mad, but I'm not. And this isn't me: not our me, James. Dickory, dickory, dock--But this is worse than before. I wonder why God thought of men andwomen--and snow--and sheep--and dogs. Dogs--" Her words stopped; sheheard the little noises of the fire. She found that this was not the wayin which to combat terrors. She knew how Zebedee would look if he sawher now, and she stood up slowly. The muscles in his cheek would twitch, and the queer flecks in his eyes would chase each other as he watchedher anxiously and sadly. She could not let him look like that. 

She walked into the middle of the room and looked about her. She openedthe door and stood in the dark hall and refused the company of thethronging thoughts. Up the stairs she went, seeing nothing more alarmingthan poor Mr. Pinderwell, and on the landing she found the friendlychildren whom she loved. Jim followed her, and he seemed to share herviews; he paused when she did and stood, sturdily defying the unknown;and so they went together into every room, and mended Mildred Caniper'sfire, and returned freely to the kitchen. 

"We've conquered that, " Helen said. "We'll conquer everything. Fearis--terrible. It's ugly. I think only the beautiful can be good. "

She held to the high mantelshelf and looked at the fire from between herarms. A few minutes ago, life had been some mighty and incalculableforce which flung its victims where it chose, and now she found it couldbe tamed by so slight a thing as a human girl. She had been blinded, deafened, half stupefied, tossed in the whirlpool, and behold, with theremembrance that Zebedee believed in her, she was able to steer hercourse and guide her craft through shallows and over rapids with asteady hand. 

"There now!" she exclaimed aloud, and turned a radiant face as Halkettentered. 

For an instant, he thought it was his welcome, and his glow answeredhers before both faded. 

"Good-evening, George. "

"Good-evening, Helen, " he answered, and there was a little mockery inhis tone. 

He stood close to her, and the frosty air was still about him. A finemist and a smell of peat came from his clothes as the fire warmed them. She did not look at him, and when she would have done so, his gazeweighted her eyelids so that she could not lift them; and again, as onthat first occasion in the hollow, but ten times more strongly, she wasconscious of his appreciation and her sex. There was peril here, andwith shame she liked it, while, mentally at first, and then physically, she shrank from it. She dropped into the chair beside her, and with anartifice of which she was no mistress, she yawned, laughed in apology, and looked at him. 

"I believe you were awake half the night, " he grumbled. "I won't haveyou tired. You shouldn't have sent the nurse away. " He sat down andpulled out his pipe, and filled it while he watched her. "But I'm gladshe's gone, " he said softly. 

She did not answer. She had a gripping hand on each arm of the chair:she wanted to run away, and she hated George; she wanted to stay, andthen she hated herself. 

"I shan't get tired, " she said weakly. "Mrs. Samson stays till sixo'clock. I only look after Notya. "

"And you sleep with her?"

"Yes, " she said and, picking a spill of paper from the hearth, shelighted it and held it out to him. He put his hand round hers and didnot let it go until his pipe was lit, and then he puffed thoughtfullyfor a time. 

"I've never been up your stairs except when I carried her to bed, " hesaid, and every muscle in her body contracted sharply. She flogged hermind to start her tongue on a light word. 

"Not--not when you were little? Before we came here?"

He laughed. "I wouldn't go near the place. We were all scared of oldPinderwell. They used to say he walked. I was on the moor the night youcame, I remember, and saw the house all lighted up, and I ran home, saying he'd set the place on fire. I was supposed to be in my bed, and Ihad my ears well boxed. "

"Who boxed them?"

"Mrs. Biggs, of course. She has hands like flails. I--What's thematter?"

"Is she at the farm still?"

"Mrs. Biggs?"

"Yes. "

"D'you want her to go?"

"I should have thought you did. "

"Well--" He spoke awkwardly. "She's been there nearly all my life. Youcan't turn people off like that, but if you want it, she shall go. "

"No, it's not my affair, " she told him. 

"It will be, " he said sharply. 

"Of course, " she said in a high voice, "I should never dream of livingin the same house with her, but then, " she went on, and her tonesloosened, there was an irritating kind of humour in them, "I don'tsuppose I shall ever live there at all. "

She did not know why she spoke so; her wish to hurt him was hardlyrecognizable by herself, but when she saw him stung, she was delighted. 

The colour rushed up to his eyes. "What d'you mean by that? What d'youthink you're going to do?"

She raised her eyebrows, and answered lightly, "I'm sure I don't know. "

He put a heavy hand on her knee. "But I do, " he said, and her mouthdrooped and quivered. She knew she had laid herself open to an attackshe could not repel. 

"He'll get me this way, " she found herself almost whispering, and aloudshe said, "George, let's wait and see. Tell me some more about when youwere little. "

Things went smoothly after that, and when she went to bed, she talked toJane. 

"We mustn't have any pauses, " she said. "We can feel each other then. Wemust talk all the time, and, oh, Jane, I'm so fond of silence!"

That night a voice waked her from a dreamless sleep. 

"Helen, are you there?"

"Yes. Do you want something?"

"I have been thinking. " Her tongue seemed too thick for her mouth. "Isthe dog on the landing?"

"Yes. He's always there. You haven't been afraid?"

"No. It's a big house for two women. "

Helen sat up and, putting her feet into her slippers, she opened thedoor. Jim was sleeping in the darkness: he woke, looked up and sleptagain. It was a quiet night and not a door or window shook. 

"I didn't say I heard anything. Go back to bed. "

Helen obeyed, and she was falling softly into sleep when the voice, likea plucked wire, snatched her back. 

"Helen! I want to tell you something. "

"I'm listening. " She stared at the corner whence the voice wasstruggling, and gradually the bed and Mildred's body freed themselvesfrom the gloom. 

By a supreme effort, the next words were uttered without a blur and witha loudness that chased itself about the room. 

"I am to blame. "

"To blame?" Helen questioned softly. 

"It was my fault, not Edith's--not your mother's. "

"I don't know what you're talking about, Notya dear. "

"Your mother. " The voice was querulous. "I was--unkind to your mother. Oh--worse than that!" The bed creaked, and a long sigh gave place to thehalting speech in which the sibilants were thickened into lispingsounds. 

"She was my friend. She was beautiful. You are all like her. Miriam andRupert--" The voice dropped like a stone falling into a well without abottom, and Helen, listening for the sound of it, seemed to hear onlythe echoes of Mildred Caniper's memory, coming fainter and fainter fromthe past where the other woman made a gleam. 

"Miriam--" she began again. "I haven't seen her. "

"No. Uncle Alfred has taken her away. "

"Ah!" Mildred said, and there was a silence. 

After a time, her voice came back, thin and vague, a ghostly voice, speaking the thoughts of a mind that had lost its vigour. 

"Alfred was in love with Edith. They all were. She was so pretty and sogay. But she was not unfaithful. No. I knew that. She told me and shetrusted me, but I said nothing. That's what has worried me--all thetime. " Heavily she sighed again, and Helen drew herself to a sittingposture in her bed. She dared not ask the questions which tramped overeach other in her mind; she hardly drew a breath lest the sound shouldchange the current of the other's thought. 

"She did silly things. They vexed me. I was jealous, I suppose. Takecare of Miriam. Oh--but she's gone. Edith--she made men love her, andshe couldn't help it, and then one night--but it's too long to tell. Philip thought she wasn't faithful, but I knew. She wouldn't tell him. She was angry, she wouldn't say a word, but she trusted me to tell him. And you see, I--didn't. He wouldn't go and see her. If he had seen herhe would have found out. And soon she died--of measles. " The woman inthe bed laughed softly. 

"That was so foolish! And then I married him. I got w-what I wanted. Butthere's a verse about leanness in the soul, isn't there? That's what Ihad. He wanted some one to look after the children, and I looked afteryou--no more. The struggling hasn't been worth while. "

"No. " The word came from Helen like a lost puff of wind. 

"And then Philip went away, and I came here. That's all. I wanted totell somebody. Now perhaps I can have peace. I meant to tell him, too, but I was too late. That worried me. All these years--"

Leaning on her elbow, Helen looked at the narrow bed. It had some aspectof a coffin, and the strangely indifferent voice was still. She felt anintolerable pity for the woman, and the pain overcame her bewildermentand surprise, yet she knew she need not suffer, for Mildred Caniper hadslipped her burden of confession and lay at rest. 

Beyond the relief of tears, Helen slid into her place. The dead, distantmother was not real to her: she was like the gay shadow of a butterflythat must soon die, and Philip Caniper was no more than a name. Theirfate could hardly stir her, and their personal tragedy was done; but nowshe thought she could interpret the thoughts which clustered in thedining-room. This was Mildred Caniper's secret, and it had been toldwithout shame. The irony of that made her laugh silently to the shakingof her bed. She had no words with which to clothe her feelings, thesense of her own smallness, of unhappiness so much the common lot thatit could almost pass unheeded. There was some comfort in the mingling ofher own misery with all that had been and was to be, but she feltherself in the very presence of disintegration: the room was stirringwith fragments of the life which Mildred Caniper could not holdtogether: mind and matter, they floated from the tired body in thecorner and came between Helen and the sleep that would have kept herfrom thinking of the morrow, from her nightly vision of Zebedee's facechanging from that of happy lover to poor, stricken man. Turning in thebed, she left him for the past of which Mildred Caniper had told her, yet that past, as parent of the present, looked anxiously and notwithout malice towards its grandchildren. What further tragedy would thepresent procreate?

Answers to that question were still trooping past Helen when dawn camethrough the windows, and some of them had the faces of children born toan unwilling mother. Her mind cried out in protest: she could not beheld responsible; and because she felt the pull of future generationsthat might blame her, she released the past from any responsibilitytowards herself. No, she would not be held responsible: she had boughtMiriam, and the price must be paid: she and Miriam and all mankind werebound by shackles forged unskilfully long ago, and the moor, understanding them, had warned her. She could remember no day when themoor had not foretold her suffering. 

CHAPTER XXXI

A person less simple than Helen would have readjusted her conception ofherself, her character and circumstances, in the light of her newknowledge; but with the passionate assertion that she could not be heldaltogether responsible for what her own children might have to suffer, Helen had made her final personal comment. For a day, her thoughtshovered about the distant drama of which Mildred Caniper was thememento, like a dusty programme found when the play itself is halfforgotten, and Helen's love grew with her added pity; but more urgentmatters were knocking at her mind, and every morning, when she woke, twofacts had forced an entrance. She was nearer to Zebedee by a night, andonly the daylight separated her from George and what he might demandand, outside, the moor was covered with thick snow, as cold as her ownmind. 

A great fire burned in Mildred Caniper's room, another in the kitchen;the only buds on the poplars were frozen white ones, and the whitenessof the lawn was pitted with Halkett's footsteps. Since the first day ofsnow he had climbed the garden wall close to the kitchen door so that heshould not make another trail, but the original one still gaped there, and Helen wished more snow would fall and hide the tracks. She saw themevery morning when she went into her own room to dress, and they weredeep and black, like open mouths begging the clouds for food. 

One day, John, looking from the kitchen window, asked who had beentramping about the garden. 

"Doesn't it look ugly?" Helen said. "I can't bear snow when it'sblotched with black. Is there going to be more of it?"

"I think so. "

"Are your lambs all right?"

"We haven't lost one. Lily's a wonder with them. We've a nursery in ourkitchen. Come and see it. " He went out, and she heard him on the crispsnow. 

"Now he'll mix the trail, " she thought happily. "And I might have doneit myself. I think I'm growing stupid. But it will be John and Georgewhen I get up in the morning: that's better than George and me. "

John came back and spoke gravely. "I find those footsteps go rightacross the moor towards Halkett's Farm. "

"Of course! George made them. "

"Oh, you knew?"

"Yes. I couldn't imagine Jim had done it, could I?"

"What did he come for?"

"He sat by the fire and smoked. "

"You'd better not encourage him. "

"I don't. "

"Be careful!--What are you laughing at?"

"That old story of the kiss!"

"It makes me mad. "

"He doesn't try to kiss me, John. I shouldn't be horrified if he did. You needn't be afraid for me. "

"All right. It's your affair. Want any wood chopped?"

"Rupert did a stack for me. "

"This is pretty dull for you, isn't it? When does--"

She interrupted. "At the end of next week, I think. " She was somewhattired of answering the question. 

That night, as she sat with George, he said, "When we're like this, Iwish you'd wear your wedding-ring. "

"I said I wouldn't. "

"It couldn't do any harm. "

"It could--to me. "

"You talk as if it's dirt, " he said. 

"Oh, no, I know it's gold! Let's keep our bargains and talk ofsomething else. Tell me what you have been doing today. "

His face reddened to a colour that obscured his comeliness. "You can'tget round me like that. "

"What do you mean?" She lifted her head so that he saw her round whitethroat. "Why should I condescend to get round you, as you call it?"

"That's it!" he shouted angrily. "That's the word!" He rose and knockedhis pipe against the stove. "You're too damned free with yourcondescension, and I'm sick of it. " He left the kitchen angrily, and twominutes later she heard the distant banging of the garden door. 

She wanted to run after him, for she was afraid of the impulses of hisanger. She felt a dreadful need to conciliate, for no other reason thanhis body's greater strength, but she let him go, and though for severaldays she did not see him, she had no sense of liberty. He would comeback, she knew, and she found herself planning unworthy little shifts, arranging how she would manage him if he did this or that, losing herbirthright of belief that man and woman could meet and traffic honestlytogether. They could not do it, she found, when either used baseweapons: she, her guile, or he, his strength; but if he used hisstrength, how could she save herself from using guile? She had to useit, and she clung fiercely to it, though she knew that, at last, itwould be wrested from her. 

 * * * * *

In these days of his absence, there were hours when she wanderedceaselessly through the house, urged by the pride which refusedallegiance to this man, tortured by her love for Zebedee and the painshe had to give him, hunted by the thought that George was making forhimself a place in the circle where she kept her pensioners. Each timethat he looked at her with longing, though she shrank, she gave herready pity, and when he walked away into the night, her heart went afterhim unwillingly. Worse than all, she knew she would not always see himas a pensioner. Far off and indistinct, like a gallows seen on a distanthill, she spied the day when she might own a kind of need of him; shehad to love those who loved her enough, and his strength, the verylimits of his mind, would some day hold her. But she would not let thesethoughts properly take shape: they were vague menaces, and they chasedher through Mr. Pinderwell's sparsely-furnished rooms. She was glad thatZebedee had never been a pensioner; he had always given more than he hadasked. His had not been an attitude of pleading, and she could notremember once seeing an appeal in his eyes. They had always been quickon her face and busy with herself, and her pride in him was mixed withanger that he had not bound her to him by his need. He would managewithout her very well, she thought, and hardened herself a little; buthard or soft, the result of her fierce thinking was the same. She hadthe picture of Miriam like a broken flower, lying limp and crumpled onthe floor, and she believed she had done well in selling herself to savethat beauty. It was the only thing to do, and Zebedee would know. Thesewords she repeated many times. 

But she went beyond that conclusion on her own path. She had marriedGeorge, and that was ugly, but life had to be lived and it must bebeautiful; it could not be so long that she should fail to make itbeautiful: fifty years, perhaps. She beat her hands together. She couldsurely make it beautiful for fifty years. 

But at night, when she waited for George, she trembled, for she knewthat her determination meant ultimate surrender. 

He came on the fourth night. She gave him half a smile, and with a thinfoot she pushed his chair into its place, but he did not sit down. Hestood with his hands clasped behind him, his head thrust forward, andhaving glanced at him in that somewhat sulky pose, she was shaken byinward laughter. Men and women, she reflected, were such foolish things:they troubled over the little matters of a day, a year, or a decade, andcould not see how small a mark their happiness or sorrow made in thehistory of a world that went on marching. 

She bent over her sewing while she thought, and she might have forgottenhis presence if a movement had not blocked the light. 

"George, please, I can't see. "

"I beg your pardon. "

"I wish you would sit down. It isn't comfortable like this. "

"All right. " He sank down heavily and sighed. 

She lifted her head quickly and showed him her puckered face. "Are youstill so cross?"

"I--don't know. I've been miserable enough, " he said, but he had tosmile on her. 

She was astonished that he should have no difficulty in speaking ofhimself, and she looked at him in this surprised consideration beforeshe tempted him to say more. 

"Why?" she asked. 

"You wouldn't understand. "

"I might. "

"How much I wanted you. "

She tapped her thimble against her teeth. "It's so absurd, " she saidsoftly. 

"Eh?"

She hated him to say that, and she frowned a little as he asked, "Why isit absurd?"

"Because you don't know me at all. "

"That's nothing to do with it. " He stood up and kicked a protrudingcoal. "Nothing to do with it. I know I--want you. " He turned sharplytowards her. "I was half drunk that night. "

"I wish you wouldn't talk about it. "

He added abruptly, "I've had nothing since. "

Her silence implied that this was only what she had expected and, feeling baulked of his effect, he sighed again. 

"Oh, you are so pathetic! Why don't you smile?" He did it, and shenodded her applause, while he, appeased and daring, asked her, "Well, did you miss me?"

"Yes. A little. "

"Are you glad I'm here?"

"I think so. "

"When will you be sure?"

"Ah, that depends on you. I hate you to be rough. "

"God knows I've had enough to make me. You wear me out, you're so damnedsuperior. "

"I'm afraid that's not my fault!"

He swore under his breath. "At it again!"

"Oh, dear!" she cried, "that was meant to be a joke! I thought it rathergood! Shall I make some coffee? They say a wise woman always has goodthings for her--for a man to eat and drink. I'm going to try it. "

They drank in silence, but as he put down his cup, she said, twinklingover hers, "Was I a wise woman?" and suddenly she felt the greatloneliness of the house, and remembered that she was a woman, and thisman's wife. She looked down that he might see no change. He did notanswer, and the coals, dropping in the grate, were like little tonguesclicking in distress. She wondered if he were ever going to speak. 

"Give me your cup, " she heard him say, and his voice was confident. Shefelt a hand put firmly on her shoulder, and she saw him bending overher. 

"Good-night, " he said, "I'm going, " and still with that hand on her, hekissed her mouth. 

She did not move when the door was shut behind him: she leaned back inthe chair, pressed there by his kiss, her hands limp in her lap. Sherespected him at last. There had been dignity in that kiss, and shethought it better that he should take what he desired than sit toohumble under her gaze, but she knew she was no longer what she had been. He had, in some manner, made her partly his: not by the spirit, not byher will, but by taking something from her: there was more to take, andshe was sure now that he would take it. She was not angry, but for along time she cried quietly in her chair. 

CHAPTER XXXII

Snow was falling when Zebedee at last drove up the road, and from thewindow of Mildred Caniper's bedroom Helen watched his huddled figure andthe striving horse. She saw him look for the obliterated track and thenturn towards the shelter of Brent Farm. 

"Is he coming?" Mildred asked. She was childishly interested in hisreturn. 

"Yes. He has gone to put the horse up at the farm. "

"He will be cold. "

"Yes. " Helen was cold, too. 

"It is a dreadful day for driving. "

"I don't think he minds that, " she said in a dead voice. 

"No. You had better go downstairs. "

"When I see him starting back. He'll have to talk to Lily. No, he'scoming now. "

She stood at the window while she slowly counted twenty, and then shewarmed her hands before she went. 

She was irritated by the memory of him running across the road with hishands in his pockets, his head butting against the storm, his eager feetsinking into the snow and dragging themselves out again. She had a crazywish that he would fall. Why could he not walk? she asked herself. Itwas absurd to be in such a hurry. There was plenty of time, more thanenough, if he but knew it! She laughed, and hated the false, cruelsound, and looked round the hall to see if there were any one to hear;but in the snow, as she opened the gate to him, there was a moment inwhich she knew nothing but joy. He had come back, he was close to her, and evil had passed away. 

"Oh, my darling--" he said. "Let me get off my coat!"

He took her hands, and unsmilingly he scanned her, from her smooth hairto her mouth, from her hands to her feet. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

She gave him her clear regard. "All the things that have mattered mostto me have been comings and goings through this gate and the gardendoor. "

"Well, dearest one--"

"You've come again. "

"And I shall come tomorrow. "

"Will you?" She closed her eyelids on what he might see, and he kissedher between the eyes. "I have stayed away too long, " he said. 

"Yes. I want to talk to you. Come and see Notya first. "

"Things have been happening, Daniel tells me. "

"Oh, yes, they have. "

"And if your letters had shown me your face, I shouldn't have stayedaway another day. "

"Isn't it so nice, Zebedee?"

"It's lovelier than it ever was, but there's a line here, and here, andhere. And your eyes--"

Again she shut them, but she held up her face. "I want you to kiss mymouth. "

"Helen, " he said, when he had slowly done her bidding, "let us sit onthe stairs and think about each other. Yes, there's room for Jim, but, oh, my blessed one, he ought to have a bath. No, you can stay downthere, my boy. Are you comfortable, little heart? Let me look at youagain. You are just like a pale flower in a wood. Here, in the darkness, there might be trees and you gleaming up, a flower--"

She dropped her forehead to his knees. "I wish--I were--that flower. "

She felt his body tighten. "What has happened?"

"I'll tell you soon. "

"No, now. "

"When you have seen Notya. She might notice if we looked--queer. "

"Then let us go to her at once. "

 * * * * *

Mildred Caniper cut short the interview, saying, "Take him away, Helen. I'm tired. I'm always tired now. "

"Come into Jane, " Helen said when they were on the landing. "No one willdisturb us there. Let Jim come, too. "

"He isn't fit to be in your bedroom, dear. Neither am I. And how likeyou it is!"

"It's cold, " she said. Through the window she saw that the new snow hadcovered George's tracks. "Cold--cold. "

He put his arms round her. "I'm back again, and I can only believe itwhen I'm holding you. Now tell me what's the matter. "

"Shall I? Shall I? Don't hold me, or I can't. It's--oh, you have toknow. I'm married, Zebedee. "

Plainly he did not think her sane. "This can't be true, " he said in avoice that seemed to drop from a great height. 

"Yes, it's true. I can show you the thing--the paper. Here it is. Do youwant to read it? Oh, yes, it's true. "

"But it can't be! I don't understand! I don't understand it. Who--ForGod's sake, tell me the whole tale. "

She told it quickly, in dull tones, and as she watched his face she sawa sickly grey colour invade his tan. 

"Don't, don't look like that!" she cried. 

"Are you quite sure you're married?" he asked in his new voice. "Let melook at this thing. "

Outside, the snow fell thicker, darkening the room, and as she took astep nearer, she saw the muscles twitching in his cheeks. He laid thepaper on her dressing-table. 

"May his soul rot!" he whispered. He did not look at her. Darkness anddistance lay between them, but fearfully she crept up to him and touchedhis arm. 

"Zebedee--"

He turned swiftly, and his face made her shrink back. 

"You--you dare to tell me this! And you said you loved me. I thought youloved me. "

"I did. I do, " she moaned, and her hands fluttered. "Zebedee, " shebegged. 

"Oh--did you think I was going to wish you happiness? I'd rather see youdead. I could have gone on loving you if you were dead, believing youhad loved me. "

"And do you think I want to be alive?" she asked him, and slipped to herknees beside the bed. "I didn't want to die until just now. All thetime, I said, Zebedee will understand. He'll know I did my best. He'llbe so sorry for me--"

"So sorry for you that he couldn't think about himself! Sorry foryou--yes! But can't you see what you have done for me? You never thoughtof that! It's like a woman. If you'd killed me--but you have killed me. And you did it lightly. You let me come here, you gave me your mouth tokiss, and then you tell me this! This! Oh, it's nothing! You've marriedsome one else! You couldn't help it! Ah--!" He shook with a rage thatterrified her, and having held out disregarded arms to him, she let hertrembling mouth droop shapelessly, and made no effort to control herheavy tears, the sobs rushing up and out with ugly, tortured sounds. Shespoke between them. 

"I never thought you would be angry. But I dreamt about you angry. Oh"--she spoke now only to herself--"he doesn't understand. If I hadn'tloved him truly, I needn't have kept my word, but I had to be honest, orI wouldn't have been worthy. " She dropped her face against the bed andmumbled there. "Nothing matters, then. Not even being honest. I--I--Oh!Angry--Zebedee darling, I can't bear it. Tell me you won't be angry anymore. "

"Dearest--" He sat on the bed and pulled her wet face to his knee. "Dearest--"

She took his hands and pressed them against her eyes. "Forgive me, Zebedee. "

"I can't forgive you. I can only love you. For ever and ever--I want tothink, Helen. "

"You're shaking so. "

"And you are shivering. Come downstairs beside a fire. "

"No; we are safer here. " Her arms went round him, beneath his coat, andshe leaned her head against his breast. "I wish we could go to sleep andnever wake. "

"I ought never to have left you. "

She looked up. "Zebedee, he hasn't worried me. He kissed me once. That'sall. That's why I made you kiss my mouth. "

"He shall never worry you. I'm going to see him now, and I shall comeback soon. Let me go, sweetheart. "

"No, I can't let you go. It isn't that I'm afraid for you. I--I don'tmind if you hurt each other, but if you killed him--if he killed you--!But you won't do that. You'll just say dreadful things, and then he'llcome to me and take me all. Don't you see? He could. He would. In my ownway, I can--I can keep him off, but if you went to him and claimedme--No, Zebedee, there would be no hope for me. "

"I'll shoot him, if you like, without giving him a chance. The manought to be shot. He takes advantage of his own beastliness--" He brokeoff. "If I talk about it I shall choke. "

"But he doesn't know about you. "

"You didn't tell him that?"

"I couldn't. I couldn't beg. I didn't want to say your name to him, tobring you into it. "

"Yes, I was left out of your calculations pretty thoroughly. "

"Zebedee--!"

"Ah, but you expect me to take this very calmly. You keep your promiseto a drunken brute, but what of one to me?"

"There wasn't one between us two. We just belonged, as we do now andalways shall. You're me and I am you. When I was thinking of myself, Iwas thinking of you, too. And all the time I thought you'd understand. "

"I do--begin to understand. But what about Miriam? Little fool, littlefool! Does she know what she's done?"

"No one knows but you. You see, she fainted. I always thought she'd comebetween us, but what queer things God does!"

His voice rose suddenly, saying, "Helen, it's unbearable. But you shallnot stay here. I shall take you away. "

"There's Notya. "

"Yes. "

"Do you mean--Is she going to die?"

"I don't know. She may not live for long. And if she dies, you shallcome away with me. We can go together anywhere in the world. There's nomorality and no sense and no justice in such a sacrifice. "

"Oh, " she sighed, "what peace, if I could go with you!"

"You shall go with me. "

She felt his heart ticking away the seconds. "But I can't, " she saidsoftly. "You see, I've married him. "

"Great God--!"

"I know. But I can't help it. I knew what I was doing. And he needs me. "

"Ah! If he's going to need you--And again, what of my need of you?"

"You're a better man than he is. "

He pushed her from him and went to the window, and she dared not ask himfor his thoughts. Perhaps he had none: perhaps, in the waste of snowfrom which the black trunks of trees stood up, he saw a likeness to hislife. 

He turned to ask, "How often does that beast get washed?"

She looked at him vaguely. "Who?"

"That dog. "

"Oh--once a fortnight. "

"Who does it?"

"John or I. "

"You let him sleep with you?"

"Outside my door. "

"I think he ought to be inside. I'm going over to see John. You can'tlive here alone. And, Helen, I've not given up my right to you. Youshall come to me when Mrs. Caniper sets you free. "

She was standing now, and she answered through stiff lips, "You mustn'thope for that. You know I told you long ago the kind of woman I am. "

"And you can't change yourself for my sake?"

She moved uneasily. "I would, so gladly, if I could, " she said, and heshook his head as though he did not believe her. 

"But I will not have you and John trying to arrange my life. I choose tobe alone. If you interfere--" His look reproached her. "I'm sorry, Zebedee, but I'm suffering, too, and I know best about George, aboutmyself. After all"--her voice rose and broke--"after all, I've marriedhim! Oh, what a fuss, what a fuss! We make too much of it. We have tobear it. We are not willing to bear anything. Other women, other men, have lost what they loved best. We want too much. We were not meant forhappiness. "

His hand was on the door, but he came back and stood close to her. "Doyou think you have been talking to a stone? What do you expect of me?I"--he held his head--"I am trying to keep sane. To you, this may be asmall thing among greater ones, but to me--it's the only one. "

"To me, too. But if I made a mistake in promising, I should make anotherin running away now. One has to do one's best. "

"And this is a woman's best!" he said in a voice she did not know. 

"Is that so bad?" She was looking at a stranger: she was in an emptyworld, a black, wild place, and in it she could not find Zebedee. 

"There is no logic in it, " she heard him say, and she was in her roomonce more, holding to the bed-rail, standing near this haggard travestyof her man. 

"Oh! What have I done to you?" she cried out. 

He followed his own thought. "If your sense of duty is greater towardshim than towards me, why don't you go to him and give him all he wants?"

"He has not asked for it. "

"And I do. If he has no rights, remember mine; but if he has them--"

"Yes, it may come to that, " she said, and he saw her lined, white face. 

"No, no, Helen! Not for my sake this time, but for yours! No! I didn'tmean it. Believe me, I could be glad if you were happy. "

"I shan't be happy without you, but if I can't have you, why shouldn't Ido my best for him?"

He looked at the floor and said, "Helen, I can't let him touch you. " Helooked up. "Have you thought of everything?"

"There have been days and days to think in. "

"My dear, it isn't possible! To give you into his hands!"

"I shall keep out of them if I can, and no one else can do it for me. Remember that, or you will push me into them. But I'm trying to make mybody a little thing. It's only a body, after all. Zebedee, will you letme sit on your knee? Just this once more. Oh, how your arms know how tohold me! I hope--I hope you'll never have to marry any one for Daniel'ssake. "

He rested his cheek on hers. "Daniel will have to look after himself. Men don't hurt the people they love best for the sake of some one else. That's a woman's trick. "

"You never talked like this before. "

"Because, you see, no woman had ever hurt me so much. "

"And now she has. "

"Oh, yes, she has. "

"And you love me less?"

"Come with me and see! Helen, Helen, darling, come with me. I want youso. We'll make life beautiful together. Sweetheart, if you needn'tsuffer, I could bear it for myself, I could manage to bear it formyself. "

"I should suffer if I came with you. I should always feel George wantingme. "

"And you won't feel me?"

"You are just like myself. You will always be there. No one can comebetween. George can't. "

"But his children will. " He set her on her feet and began to walk up anddown the room. "Had you thought of that?"

She covered her face and whispered, "I can't talk about it yet. And, oh!" she went on, "I wanted ours. Did you?"

"You know I did. "

"And even if I went with you, we couldn't have them. That's gone--justslipped away. They were so clear to me, so beautiful. "

"In that house of ours, " he said. "Helen, I bought that house before Iwent away. "

"Our house?"

"Our square house--with the trees. "

She broke into another storm of sobbing, and he took her on his kneeagain. He knew that Halkett's children would come and stifle pain and, as he tried to think he would not hate them, her voice came softlythrough those thoughts. 

"Zebedee, I want to tell you something. "

"Go on, dear. "

"I want to tell you--I--He's not repellent. Don't think that. I didn'twant you to think that. I suppose one can forget. And I shall alwaysthink, 'It's Zebedee who has the rest, who has all the best of me. '"

"I know you, dear. You'll be giving him all you have. "

"Oughtn't I to?"

"Oh, my darling, God only knows. Don't ask me. To me there seems onlyone thing to do--to smite him in the mouth--and you whom I worship havetied my hands. And I sit here! What do you think is happening to meinside? I'm mad! I can promise nothing. I need time to think. Helen, ifyou would hate him always, I could bear it better. But you won't, you'll grow fond of him--and I suppose I should be glad; but I can'tstand that. " He put her down roughly and stood over her. "I can't endurethis any longer, " he said under his breath, and went. 

Then she realized what she had done to him, and with how much gentlenesshe had used her. She ran after him and called from the stairhead:

"Zebedee! Wait for me. Kiss me once more. I'll never ask again. It isn'teasy for me, either, Zebedee. "

He stood, helpless, enraged at destiny, aware that any weapon he mightlift in her defence would fall on her and wound her. He could do nothingbut swear his lasting love, his ready service. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

She thought Zebedee would come to her on the next day, or the next, butshe watched in vain for him. Though she had sent him from her, shelonged for him to be back, and at night, when George entered thekitchen, she hardly looked up to welcome him. Her mind was moreconcerned with Zebedee's absence than with George's presence, but in herwhite face and tired eyes he fancied resentment for the kiss that stillburned on his own mouth. 

"You haven't much to say, " he told her, after an hour of silence. He didnot know if he most hated or adored the smooth head turned sideways, thesmall ear and the fine eyebrow, the aloofness that kept him off and drewhim on; but he knew he was the victim of a glorious kind of torment ofwhich she was the pain and the delight. 

"I have been thinking, " she explained. 

"Then why don't you tell me what you think about?"

"Would you be interested?" She smiled at the thought of telling him withwhat anxiety she looked for Zebedee, with what anger she blamed him forneglect, with what increase she loved him. 

"Yes, I would. Now you're laughing. D'you think it funny? D'you think Ican't read or write, or understand the way you speak?"

"George, " she said, "I wish you wouldn't get so cross. I don't think anyof those things. "

"Never think about me at all, I suppose. Not worth it. "

She answered slowly, "Yes, you are, " and he grunted a mockery of thanks. 

It was some time before he threw out two words of accusation. "You'redifferent. "

"Different?"

"That's what I said. You never answer straight. "

"Don't I?"

"There you are again!"

"What do you want me to say? Shall I ask you how I'm different? Well, I've asked, George. Won't you answer?"

"I can't. I can't explain. But a few nights back--well--all tonightyou've been sitting as if I wasn't here. I don't know why I stand it. Look here! You married me. "

"So you are always telling me; but no one can buy the things you want. "

"I'll get them somehow. " He used the tones that made her shrink, buttonight she was unmoved, and he saw that her womanhood was crushed bythe heaviness of her fatigue, and she was no more than a human being whoneeded rest. 

"I think you ought to go to bed, " he said. "I'm going. Good-night. " Hekissed her hand, but he did not let it fall. "You're not to look sowhite tomorrow night, " he said. 

She did not know why she went to the kitchen door and stood by it whilehe climbed the wall and dropped to the crisp snow on the further side. He called out another low good-night and had her answer before she heardhis boots crunching the frozen crust. No stars and no moon shone on thewhite garden, and to her it was like a place of death. The deep black ofthe trees against the wall made a mourning border, and the poplarslifted their heads in questioning of fate, but they had no leaves tomake the question audible, and no wind stirred their branches. Everything was silent; it seemed as if everything had died, and Helenwas envious of the dead. She wished she might curl herself up at apoplar's foot and sleep there until the frost tightened on her heart andstopped its beating. 

"It is so hard, " she said aloud, and shut the door and locked it withlimp hands. 

The kitchen's warmth gave back her sanity and humour, and she laughed asshe sat before the fire again, but when she spoke to Jim, it was inwhispers, because of the emptiness of the old house. 

"We shall manage if only we can see Zebedee sometimes. Other women haveworse things to bear. And George likes me. I can't help liking peoplewhen they like me. And there'll be Zebedee sometimes. We'll try to keepthings beautiful, and we'll be strong and very courageous, and now we'llgo to bed. "

The next morning Zebedee appeared, and in the hall of their manygreetings, she slipped her hand into his. 

"What have you been doing, Zebedee?"

"Working. "

"Is that all?"

He laughed, and asked, "Isn't that enough?"

"No; not enough to keep you from me. I thought you would come yesterdayand the day before. "

He looked at her with an astonishment that was near scorn, for she haddriven him from her and now reproached him when he did not run back. Sheput her hand on his and looked at him with shadowless grey eyes, andshowed him a mouth that tempted, as she had done before she married thisother man to whom she was determined to be faithful. His thoughts weremomentarily bitter, but his words were gentle. 

"I told you I wanted time to think. " He pressed her hand and gave itback to her. "And I have thought, and, since you are what you are, Isee, at present, no other way but yours. "

"Oh. " She was daunted by his formality. 

"Shall I go up to Mrs. Caniper?"

"Yes, " she said, puzzled. "But aren't you cold? Come into the kitchenand you shall have some coffee. I had it ready in case you came. Yourhands--your cheeks--" She touched him lightly and led him to the kitchenfire. 

"I think we shall have more snow, " he said, and his manner was snowagainst her heart. 

"Do you?" she said politely, but her anger dropped away as she saw hisface more clearly and knew he had not slept. She knew, too, that hismind was as firmly fixed as hers, and she felt as if the whole worldwere sliding from her, for this was not her lover: this was some asceticwho had not yet forgotten his desires. He looked haggard, fierce withrenunciation and restraint, and she cried out, "Zebedee, darling, don'tlook like that!"

He laughed a little, moved, and passed his hands over his face. "No, " hesaid sensibly. 

He killed the words she had ready for him: she felt them fall, deadthings, into her throat, and hang helplessly in her breast. She handedhim the cup, and while he drank she stood beside the table and watchedhim with despair and indignation. She had not imagined him thus changed:she had expected the old adoring looks, the loving words, everything buthis caresses and his claims, and he treated her as though she were nomore to him than any other woman. She knew him to be just and honest, but she thought him cruel and, aghast at the prospect of endless dayswherein he would not smile at her nor praise her, she doubted herability to live without him. She caught her breath in fear that hishabit of indifference would change to indifference indeed; and withoutshame, she confessed that she would rather have him suffering throughlove of her than living happily through lack of it. 

Mechanically, she moved after him up the stairs, played her part, andfollowed him down again; but when next he came, she had stiffened inemulation of him, and they talked together like people who had knowneach other for many years, but never known each other well. 

Once he trespassed, but that was not to please himself. 

"If you need me, you'll still use me?" he said hurriedly, and sheanswered, "Yes, of course. "

He added, "I can't keep it from Daniel for ever. "

"No. It need not be a secret now, except from Notya. And if she lives--"

"She may live for a long time if she has no shock. "

"Ah, then, " Helen said calmly, "she must not know. "

He found her more beautiful than she had been, for now her serenity wasby conquest, not by nature, and her head was carried with a freer grace. It might have been the freedom of one who had gained through loss andhad the less weight to carry, but he tortured himself with wonderingwhat fuller knowledge had given her maturer grace. Of this he gave nosign, and the attitude he maintained had its merciful result on Helen, for if he pretended not to need her, she had a nightly visitor who toldher dumbly of his longing. Love bred liking, as she had prophesied, and, because life was lonely, she came to listen for his step. She was bornto minister to people, and the more securely Zebedee shut her out, themore she was inclined to slip into the place that George had ready forher. And with George the spring was in conspiracy. The thaw came in anight, and the next morning's sun began its work of changing a whitecountry into one of wet and glistening green. Snow lingered and grewdirty in the hollows, and became marked with the tiny feet of sheep, butelsewhere the brilliance of the moor was like a cry. It was springshouting its release from bonds. Buds leapt on the trees, the meltedsnow flooded the streams, tributary ones bubbled and tinkled inunexpected places. 

"Now, " Helen said, leaning from the window of Mildred Caniper's room, "you can't help getting well. Oh, how it smells and looks and feels!When the ground is drier, you shall go for a walk, but you must practiseup here first. Then John shall carry you downstairs. "

But Mildred Caniper did not want to be energetic: she sat by the fire ina cushioned wicker chair, and when Helen looked at the lax figure andthe loosened lines of the face she recognized the woman who had madeconfession to relieve a mind that had finished with all struggling. Itwas not the real Mildred Caniper who had told that story in the night;it was the one who, weakened by illness, was content to sit with foldedhands by the fireside. 

She dimmed the sun for Helen and robbed the spring of hope. This glorywould not last: colours would fade and flowers die, and so human lifeitself would slip into a mingling of light and shadow, a pale confluenceof the two by which a man could see to dig a grave. 

Helen leaned out again, trying to recover the sense of youth, ofboundless possibilities of happiness that should have been her surepossession. 

"Are you looking for Zebedee?" Mildred asked. "He doesn't come sooften. "

"You don't need him. And he is busy. He isn't likely to come today. "

Yet she wished ardently that he might, for though he would have notenderness to give her, he would revivify her by the vigour of hisbeing: she would see a man who had refused to let one misfortune cripplehim, and as though he had divined her need, he came. 

"I had to go to Halkett's Farm, " he explained. 

"Who's ill there?" she asked sharply. 

"The housekeeper. "

"I hadn't heard. Is she very ill?"

"She may be. "

"Then I hope she'll die, " she said in a low voice. 

"My dear!" He was startled into the words, and they made her laughopenly for joy of knowing they were ready on his tongue. Lightly sheswayed towards him, but he held her off. 

"No, no, my heart. " He turned deliberately from her. "Why do you wishthat?"

"Because of Miriam. She ought to die. "

"I'm afraid she won't. She's pretty tough. "

"Is there anybody to look after her? I could go sometimes, if you like. "

He smiled at this confusion of ministering and avenging angel. 

"There's a servant there who seems capable enough. "

"I wonder why George didn't tell me. "

"She was all right yesterday. "

"You'll have to see her tomorrow. Then you'll come here, too. "

"There isn't any need. "

"But Notya likes to see you. Come and see her now. "

She sighed when they walked downstairs together as though things hadnever changed. "Oh, Zebedee, I wanted you to come today. You have mademe feel clean again. Notya--oh--!" She shuddered. "She looks like somefruit just hanging to a tree. Soon she will slip, and she doesn't care. She doesn't think. And once she was like a blade, so bright and edged. And when I looked at her this morning, I felt as if I were fatteningand rotting, too, and it wasn't spring any longer. It was autumn, andeverything was over-ripe. "

"You don't take enough exercise, " he said briskly. "Walk on the moorevery day. It's only fair to Jim. Read something stiff--philosophy, forinstance. It doesn't matter whether you understand it or not, so long asyou try. Promise you'll do that. I'll bring some books tomorrow. Takethem as medicine and you'll find they're food. And, Helen"--he was atthe gate and he looked back at her--"you are rather like a bladeyourself. "

He knew the curing properties of praise. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

When evening came, the blue colour of the sky had changed to one thatwas a memory of the earth's new green. Helen went through the garden tothe moor and sat there on a grey rock out of which her own grey figuremight have been carved. She watched the stars blink forth and stare; shesaw the gradual darkening of the world, and then Halkett's moving shapecame towards her. Out here, he was in his proper place: the kitchen madehim clumsy, but wide places set him off, and she felt a kind of pride inhis quickness and his strength. 

"George, " she said softly as he would have passed her, and he swunground and bent and took her in his arms, without hesitation or mistake. 

"Were you waiting for me?" he whispered, and felt her nod against hiscoat. She freed herself very gently. "Shall we stay out here?" he said. 

"No. I have left Notya long enough. "

"What made you wait for me?"

"I--don't know, " she said. She had not asked herself the question, andnow the unspoken answer shocked her with its significance. She had goneto wait for him without any thought. It might have been the night thatdrew her out, but she knew it was not that. Once before, she had calledherself a slave, and so she labelled herself again, but now she did ittremulously, without fierceness, aware that it was her own nature towhich she was chiefly bound. 

"Are you going to wait for me every night?" she heard him say. "Give meyour hand, Helen. It is so small. Will you go over the wall or throughthe door? I'd like to lift you over. "

"No. I want to go through the garden. There are primroses there. Bigones, like stars. "

"It's you that are a star. "

"I think they liked the snow. And the poplars are all buds. I wish Icould sit in the tree-tops and look right across the moor. "

"And wait for me. And when I came I'd hold my arms out and you'd jumpinto them. "

"If I didn't fly away. "

"Ay, I expect you would do that. "

They did not speak again until they reached the house, and when she hadlighted the kitchen lamp she saw him looking moodily into the fire. 

"Is Mrs. Biggs better?" she asked smoothly. 

"What do you know about her?"

"I heard she was ill. "

"Who told you?"

"Dr. Mackenzie. "

"Oh, he's been again, has he?"

"Yes. " Her voice had a ring in it. "And he will come tomorrow. "

"And the next day, I suppose, and the next. I should have thought he'dspare that old nag of his; but no, up he comes, and I want to know why. "

She did not answer immediately because she feared to betray theindignation that moved in her like a living thing. She found her sewingand signed to him to put her chair into its place, and when she hadstitched steadily for a time she said in pleasant tones, "George, youare like a bad person in a book. "

"I'm not up to this kind of talk. You told me yourself that Mrs. Caniperhardly needs a doctor. What does he come for, then? Is it for you?"

"No, it is not. "

"Do you like the man?"

She opened her lips and shut them several times before she spoke. "I'mvery fond of him--and of Daniel. "

"Oh, leave Daniel alone. No woman would look at him. "

She gave him a considering gaze for which he could have struck her, because it put him further from her than he had ever been. 

"It's no good staring at me like that. I've seen you with him beforenow. "

"Everybody on the moor must have seen me with him. "

"Yes, and walking pretty close. I remember that. "

"Very likely you will see me walking with him again. "

"No, by God!"

"Oh, " she said, wearily, "how often you call on God's name. "

"No wife of mine--"

She laughed. "You talk like Bluebeard. How many wives have you?"

"I've none, " he cried in an extremity of bitterness. "But I'll have oneyet, and I'll keep her fast!"

She lifted her head in the haughty way he dreaded. "I will not enduresuspicions, " she said clearly, but she flushed at her own words, for sheremembered that she had been willing to give Zebedee the lesser tokensof her love, and it was only by his sternness that she could look Georgein the eyes. Zebedee would have taken her boldly and completely, believing his action justified, but he would have no little secretdealings, and she was abashed by the realization of her willingness todeceive. She was the nearer to George by that discovery, and the oneshame made her readier to suffer more. 

"It's because I want you, " he said, shading his eyes; and for the firsttime she had no resentment for his desires. 

"Oh, George, don't you think you had better go home?" she said. 

"Why?" he asked her. 

"Because--because I want to read. "

"Well, I can watch you. "

"And you won't think it rude?"

He shook his head. There was a rare joy in sitting within reach of herand honouring her with his restraint. 

Her slim feet were crossed on the dog's back, and she hardly stirredexcept to turn a page: the firelight threw colours on her dress, behindher there was a dark dresser where china gleamed, and sitting there, shemade a little picture of home for a man who could remember none buthired women in his house. 

"I wish you'd talk to me, " he said, and at once she shut her book with acharming air of willingness. 

"Do you know what you've been reading about?" he dared to ask her slyly, for surely she had been conscious of his thoughts of her. 

She would not be fluttered. "Yes. Shall I tell you?"

"No, " he said. 

Her voice was influenced by the quick beating of her heart. 

"Do you never read anything?"

"I gave it up long ago. "

"Why? What did you do at night before you--"

"Before I married you? I used to smoke and wish it was time to go tobed, and look at the newspaper sometimes. "

"That must have been very dull. "

"I used to watch the clock, " he said. He leaned towards her and spokequickly, softly. "And I watch it still! From waking till dusk I watch itand think of you, sitting and waiting for me. Oh, what's the good oftalking to me of books? You're here--and you're my wife, and I'll talkto you of nothing but yourself. " He knelt, and his hands were on herwaist. "Yourself--my beauty--my little saint--your little hands andfeet--your cheeks I want to kiss--your hair--" He drew her to his breastand whispered, "How long is it--your hair?"

There was no resistance in her, and her neck could not hold up the headthat drooped over his shoulder when he kissed her ear and spoke in it. 

"Helen--Helen--I love you. Tell me you love me. You've got to kissme--Yes--"

She answered in a quiet voice, but she stopped for breath between thewords. "I think--there's some one--in the hall. It must be John. "

Reluctantly he loosed her, and she left him quickly for the dark passagewhich covered and yet cooled her as she called out, "John! Is that you?"

"Both of us, " Rupert answered. 

"But it's Friday. "

"Yes. Won't you let me have a whole holiday tomorrow?"

She looked back into the kitchen and saw George prepared to meet herbrothers. Never before had she seen him with so fine a manner, and, smiling at him, she felt like a conspirator, leagued with this man whowas liberated by possession of her, against the two who would feelhorror when they learnt she was possessed. 

John's jaw tightened as he saw George and nodded to him, but Rupert'sgreeting had its usual friendliness. 

"Hullo, here's George!" They shook hands. "I've not seen you for months. What's the weather going to be tomorrow? It's starlight tonight. "

"It'll be fine, I think. "

"That's good. Helen, you've hidden my slippers again, and I told younot to. What a fiend for tidiness you are!"

"I couldn't leave them in the dust. " She was half enjoying herself-consciousness. "They're in the cupboard. "

"Find them, there's a dear. "

She brought the slippers and went back to her chair. The three menseemed to fill the kitchen. John was silent and, leaning against thetable, he filled his pipe and looked up sometimes as the others talked. Rupert, slim against Halkett's bulk, alert and straight, was thinkingfaster than he spoke, and while he reminded George of this and that, howthey had gone ratting once together, how George had let him try a coltthat he was breaking, Helen knew there were subtle questions in hisbrain, but if George suspected them, he gave no sign. He was at hisease, for with men he had neither diffidence nor surliness, and Helenremembered that she had hardly seen him except in the presence of Miriamor herself, two women who, in different ways, had teased him intosulkiness. 

Her heart lightened and, when he chanced to look at her, she smiledagain. A few seconds later, Rupert followed Helen's glance and learntwhat had caused the slight confusion of George's speech. She was lookingat him with an absorbed and hopeful interest. She was like a childattracted by some new and changeful thing, and her beauty had ananimation it often lacked. 

"Can't we all sit down?" Rupert said. He promised himself a pleasantevening of speculation. 

John handed his tobacco pouch to George and, having exchanged a fewremarks about the frost, the snow, the lambing season, they seemed toconsider that courtesy's demands had been fulfilled; but Rupert talkedto hide the curiosity which could have little satisfaction until Halketttook his leave. 

When he rose to go, he stood before Helen's chair and looked down ather. He was so near that she had to throw back her head before she couldsee his face. 

"Good-night, George. "

"Good-night. " He took her hand and kissed it, nodded to the others, andwent out. 

Imperceptibly, Helen straightened herself and took a breath. There was avague stir in the room. 

"Well! I've never been more damned, " John said. 

"Why?" Helen asked. 

"That salute. Is it his usual manner?"

"He has done it before. I liked it. "

"He did it very well, " said Rupert. "Inspired, I should think. Will youhave a cigarette?"

"Will it make me sick?"

"Try it. But why do we find you entertaining the moorland rake?"

She was absurd with the cigarette between her lips, and she askedmumblingly as Rupert held the match, "Why do you call him that?"

Rupert spread his hands. "He has a reputation. "

"And he deserves it, " said John. 

She took the cigarette and many little pieces of tobacco from her mouth. "Before you go any further, I think I had better tell you that I ammarried to him. "

"Good God!" John said, in a conversational tone. 

There was a pause that threatened to be everlasting. 

"Helen, dear, did you say 'married to him'?"

"Yes, I did. "

Rupert lighted one cigarette from another and carefully threw the oldone into the fire. 

"When?" John asked. He was still staring at her. 

"I forget the date. "

"Won't you tell us about it?" Rupert said. He leaned against themantelpiece and puffed quickly. 

"There's nothing more to tell. "

"But when was it?" John persisted. 

"Oh--about a month, six weeks, ago. The paper is upstairs, but oneforgets. "

"Wants to?"

"I didn't say so, did I? Notya is not to know. "

"And Zebedee?"

"Of course he knows. "

Rupert was frowning on her with a troubled look, and she knew he wastrying to understand, that he was anxious not to hurt her. 

"I'm damned if I understand it, " John muttered. 

Her lips had a set smile. "I'm sure, " she said lightly, "you'll never bedamned for that. I'm afraid I can't explain, but Zebedee knowseverything. "

They found nothing else to say: John turned away, at last, and busiedhimself uneasily with his pipe: Rupert's cigarette became distasteful, and, throwing it after the other, he drove his hands into his pocketsand watched it burn. 

"I suppose we ought to have congratulated George, " he said, and lookedgrieved at the omission. 

Helen laughed on a high note, and though she knew she was disclosing herown trouble by that laughter, she could not stay it. 

"Oh, Rupert, don't!"

"My dear, I know it's funny, but I meant it. I wish I could marry youmyself. "

She laughed again and waved them both away. "Go and see Notya. She maynot be asleep. "

When John came downstairs, he looked through the kitchen door and saidgood-night; then he advanced and kissed her. She could not remember whenhe had last done that, and it was, she thought, as though he kissed thedead. He patted her arm awkwardly. 

"Good-night, child. "

"Don't worry, " she said, steadying her lips. 

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Be nice to George. "

"Oh, I've got to be. "

"John, I wish you wouldn't talk as if he's--bad. "

"I didn't mean to set myself up as judge, but I never liked him. "

"But I like him, " she said. "Go home and tell Lily. I'm afraid she'lllie awake all night!"

"What a family this is!"

"Once, I might have said that to you. I didn't, John. "

"But we are a success. "

"And why should we not be? We shall be! We--we are. Go home. Good-night. "

She waited for Rupert, dreading his quick eyes. 

"Notya seems better, " he said easily. "Well, did you finish thecigarette?"

"I didn't like it. "

"And it looked wrong. A piece of fine sewing suits you better. "

She smiled. "Does it? Have you had supper?"

"Lily fed me. I like that girl. The only people I ever want to marry arethe ones that some one else has chosen. It's contrariness, I suppose. "He looked round. "Two arm-chairs? Do you always sit here?"

"Yes. Notya can't hear us. "

"I see. "

"And you want to see the rest?"

"I do. "

"I shall show you nothing. "

"I'd rather find it out. "

"Tomorrow, " she said, "you will see Daniel and Zebedee. I know you'll becurious about him. I don't mind, but don't let him notice it, please, Rupert. "

He marked her little tremor. "Trust me. I'm wasted on the bank. "

"You and Daniel will have a fine talk, I suppose. The walls of thathouse are very thin. Be careful. "

"Yes, my dear. I can't help wishing I had not left home. "

She stood up. "I don't wish anything undone. If you begin undoing, youfind yourself in a worse tangle. "

"You're not unhappy?"

"Do I look it?"

"You always answer one question with another. You didn't look it. You donow. "

She sighed. "I almost wish you hadn't come, Rupert. You made beauty seemso near. "

CHAPTER XXXV

She had another reason for her wish. She knew that Rupert had butdelayed what was inevitable, and when it came one night, a few weekslater, she had no feeling beyond relief that the fight was over, thatshe need no longer scheme to outwit George with her advances andretreats. Afterwards, she suffered from a black anger that she mustserve the man she did not love, a dull despair from the knowledge that, while both lived, the tie would hold. Her mind tried, and failed, tomake nothing of it; by nature she was bound to him who took most fromher, and when George had played the husband, he left her destitute. ThatZebedee would always have the best of her had been her boast, but for atime, there was nothing he could have. She was George Halkett's woman. The day was fogged with memories of the night, yet through that fog shelooked for his return. She was glad when she heard his step outside and, going to the kitchen door, felt herself lifted off her feet. She did nottry to analyze the strange mingling of willingness and shrinking thatmade up her feeling for him, but she found mental safety in abandoningherself to what must be, a primitive pleasure in the fact of beingpossessed, a shameful happiness in submission. 

Nevertheless, it was only in his presence that she lost her red sense ofshame, and though she still walked nobly, looked with clear eyes, andcarried a high head, she fancied herself bent by broken pride, blindedand dusty-haired. Zebedee's books helped her to blot out that vision ofherself and the other of Mildred Caniper still sitting by the fire andrefusing the fulness of the sun. What she read amazed her with itsprofundity and amused her with its inconclusiveness. She had an awedpity for men whose lives were occupied in these endless questionings, and while Mildred idly turned the pages of periodicals she once hadscorned, Helen frowned and bit her lips over the problems of the ages. 

They gave her and Zebedee something impersonal to talk of when he cameon his weekly visit. 

"It's no good telling me, " she warned him firmly, "that my poplars arenot really there. I can feel them and see them and hear them--alwayshear them. If they weren't there, they would be! If I exist, so dothey. "

"Quite so. You're doing very well. I told you the medicine would turn tofood. "

"It's not food. What is it that nasty people chew? Gum? Yes, chewing-gum. It keeps me going. I mean--"

He helped her over that abyss. "It's a most improper name for wisdom. "

"This isn't wisdom. Wisdom is just going on--and--keeping the worldclean. "

"Then, " he said slowly, "you may count among the sages. "

They stood together by the schoolroom window and watched the windysunshine darting among the laurel bushes and brightening the brass onthe harness of the patient horse outside the gate. 

"I wonder, " Helen said, speaking as if she were not quite awake, "whether Mr. Pinderwell ever read philosophy. "

"No, " Zebedee answered in the same tones; "he took to wood-carving. "

This time she leapt the abyss unaided and with a laugh. 

"But then, he never had a stepmother nodding beside the fire. What isgoing to happen to her?"

"She has very little strength. "

"But she isn't going to die?"

"Not yet, I think, dear. " The word slipped from him, and they bothlistened to its echoes. 

"I wish you'd go, " she whispered. 

"I'm going. " He did not hesitate at the door or he would have seen herdrop into a chair and let her limp arms slide across the table as shelet out a noisy sob of happiness because his friendliness was still onlya cloak that could sometimes be lifted to show the man beneath. 

Almost gaily, she went to Mildred Caniper's room. 

"Zebedee stayed a long time today. I could hear you talking. "

"Yes. "

"Isn't he busy now?"

"He works all day and half the night. "

"Oh. " Mildred's twisted face regained a semblance of its old expressionand her voice some of its precision. "Then you ought to be looking afterhim. "

"I can't manage both of you. "

"No, but Mrs. Samson could look after me. " The words were slovenlyagain; the face changed subtly as sand changes under water. It becamesoft and indefinite and yielding, betraying the slackening of the mind. 

"Mrs. Samson is a nice woman--very kind. She knows what I want. I musthave a good fire. I don't need very much. She doesn't bother me--ortalk. I don't want to be bothered--about anything. I'm still--rathertired. I like to sit here and be warm. Give me that magazine, Helen. There's a story--" She found the place and seemed to forget all she hadsaid. 

Helen left the room and, as she sat on the topmost stair, she wished Mr. Pinderwell would stop and speak to her, but he hurried up and down as hehad always done, intent on his own sad business of seeking what he hadlost. It was strange that he could not see the children who were soplain to Helen. She turned to speak to them, but she had outgrown themin these days, and even Jane was puzzled by her grief that MildredCaniper wanted to be kept warm, and, with some lingering faculty, wishedHelen to be happy, but needed her no longer. 

Helen whispered into the dimness because her thoughts were unwholesomeand must be cast forth. 

"She only wants to be kept warm! It was sweet of her to try to think ofme, but she couldn't go on thinking. Oh, Jane, Mrs. Samson and I arejust the same. She doesn't mind who puts coals on the fire. I wish she'ddie. I always loved her very much, and she loved me, but now shedoesn't. She's just a--bundle. It's ugly. If I stay here and look ather, I shall get like her. Oh--she wants me to go and live with Zebedee. Zebedee! He wouldn't like me to go on like this. The philosophers--butthat old bishop can't make me think that Notya isn't dying. That's whatshe's doing, Jane--dying. But no, dying is good and death is splendid. This is decay. " She stood up and shuddered. "I mustn't stay here, " shemurmured sensibly. 

She called to Jim in a loud voice that attempted cheerfulness andalarmed her with its noise in the silent house of sorrow and disease. 

"The moor, Jim!" she said, and when she had passed through the gardenwith the dog leaping round her, she shook her skirts and held up herpalms to get the freshness of the wind on them. 

"We'll find water, " she said, but she would not go to the stream thatran into the larch-wood. Today, the taint of evil was about Halkett'sFarm, as that of decay was in Mildred Caniper's room. 

"We'll go to the pool where the rushes are, Jim, and wash our hands andface. "

They ran fleetly, and as they went she saw George at a distance on hishorse. He waved his hat, and, before she knew what she was doing, sheanswered with a grimace that mocked him viciously and horrified her withits spontaneity. She cried aloud, and, sinking to the ground, she hidher dishonoured face. 

"No, no, " she moaned. She hated that action like an obscenity. Surelyshe was tainted, too. 

Jim licked her covering hands, and whined when she paid no heed. 

"Hateful! hateful!" were the words he heard and tried to understand. Hesat, alert and troubled, while clouds rolled across the sky, and darkreflections of them made stately progress on the moor. Sheep, absorbedin feeding, drew near, looked up and darted off with foolish, warningbleats, but still his mistress kept her face hidden, and did not moveuntil he barked loudly at the sight of Halkett riding towards them. 

"I couldn't keep away, " the man said, bending from his saddle. 

She rose and leaned against his knee. "George, what do I look like?"

His fervent answer was not the one she wanted. 

"But do I look the same?"

He held her by the chin. "Have you been crying?"

"No. "

"What is it then?"

She looked beyond him at the magnificence of the clouds and her troublesdwindled. "I felt miserable. I was worried. "

"And you're happier now?"

She nodded. 

"Then give me a kiss. "

She turned her cheek to him. 

"No. I said, give me one. "

"I can't reach you. "

"You don't want to. "

"I never want to kiss people. "

"People! Then do it to please me. "

His cheek hardly felt her pressure. 

"It's the way a ghost would kiss, " he said. 

"That's how I shall haunt you when I'm dead. "

"Nay, we'll have to die together. "

She wrinkled her face. "But we can't do that without a lot of practice. "

"What? Oh!" Her jokes made him uneasy. "I must go on. Helen, I'll seeyou tonight. "

"Yes, you'll see the ghost who gives the little kisses. "

"Don't say it!"

"But it's nice to be a ghost, you feel so light and free. There isn'tany flesh to be corrupted. I'm glad I thought of that, George. Good-bye. "

"No. Come here again. Stand on my foot. " He clinched her waist andkissed her on the mouth and let her drop. "You are no ghost, " he said, and rode away. 

She was indeed no ghost. Some instinct told him how to deal with her, and when he insisted on her humanity, her body thrilled in answer andagreement, and with each kiss and each insistence she became more hisown; yet she was thrall less to the impulses of her youth than to someage-old willingness to serve him who possessed her. But her life hadmental complications, for she dreaded in Zebedee the disloyalty whichshe reluctantly meted out to him when George had her in his arms. Shewould not have Zebedee love another woman, and she longed for assuranceof his devotion, but she could not pass the barrier he had set up; shecould not try to pass it without another and crueller disloyalty to bothmen. Her body was faithful to George and her mind to Zebedee, and thetwo fought against each other and wearied her. 

The signs of strain were only in her eyes; her body had grown morebeautiful, and when Miriam arrived on a short visit to the moor, shestopped in the doorway to exclaim, "But you're different! Why are youdifferent?"

"It is a long time since you went away, " Helen said slowly. "Centuries. "

"Not to me! The time has flown. " She laughed at her recollections. "And, anyhow, it's only a few months, and you have changed. "

"I expect it is my clothes, " Helen said calmly. "They must look queer toyou. "

"They do. But nice. I've brought some new ones for you. I think you'llsoon be prettier than I am. Think of that!"

They had each other by the hand and looked admiringly in each other'sface, remembering small peculiarities they had half forgotten: there wasthe soft hair on Helen's temples, trying, as Zebedee said, to curl;there was the little tilt to Miriam's eyebrows, giving her that look ofsome one not quite human, more readily moved to mischief than tokindness, and never to be held at fault. 

"Yes, it's centuries, " Helen said. 

"It's only a day!"

"Then you have been happy, " Helen said, letting out a light sigh ofcontent. 

"Yes, but I'm glad to be here again, so long as I needn't stay. I'veheaps to tell you. " She stretched herself, like a cat. "I knew there wasfun in the world. I had faith, my dear, and I found it. "

Helen was looking at her with her usual confusion of feelings: shewanted to shake off Miriam's complacence roughly, while she was fondlyglad that she should have it, but this remark would not pass without aword, and Helen shook her head. 

"No; you didn't find it. Uncle Alfred gave it to you--he and I. "

"You? Oh--yes, I suppose you did. Well--thank you very much, and don'tlet us talk about it any more. You're like a drag-net, bringing up theunpleasant. Don't let us quarrel. "

"Quarrel! I couldn't, " Helen said simply. 

"Are you so pleased to see me?"

Helen's reluctant smile expanded. "I suppose it's that. "

"Aha! It's lovely to be me! People go down like ninepins! Why?" Piously, she appealed to Heaven. "Why?"

"They get up again, though, " Helen said with a chuckle. 

"For instance?" Miriam demanded truculently. 

"Oh, I'm not going to be hard on you, " Helen said, and though she spokewith genuine amusement, she felt a little seed of anger germinating inher breast. That was what George had done to her: he had made her hearta fertile place for passions which her mind disdained. 

"And I'm so glad to have you here, " she added, defying harsh emotions. 

"Ah! You're rather nice--and, yes, you are much prettier. How have youdone it? I should like to kiss you. "

"Well, you may. " She put her face close to Miriam's, and enjoyed thecoolness of that sisterly salute. 

"But, " Miriam said, startled by a thought, "need I kiss--her?"

"No. You won't want to do that. She isn't very nice to look at. "

Miriam shrank against the wall. "Not ugly?"

"You must come and see, " Helen said. She was shaken again by a moment'sanger as she looked on Miriam's lovely elegance and remembered the pricethat had been paid for it. "You must come and see her, " she repeated. "Do you think you are the only one who hates deformity?"

"Deformity?" Miriam whispered. 

"Her face is twisted. Oh--I see it every day!"

"Helen, don't! I'll go, but don't make me stay long. I'll go now, " shesaid, and went on timid feet. 

Helen stayed outside the door, for she could not bring herself towitness Mildred Caniper's betrayal of her decay to one who had neverloved her: there was an indecency in allowing Miriam to see it. Helenleaned against the door and heard faint sounds of voices, and inimagination she saw the scene. Mildred Caniper sat in her comfortablechair by a bright fire, though it was now late June of a triumphantsummer, and Miriam stood near, answering questions quickly, her feetlight on the ground and ready to bear her off. 

Very soon the door was opened and Miriam caught Helen's arm. 

"I didn't think she would be like that, " she whispered. "Helen, she's--she's--"

"I know she is, " Helen said deeply. 

"But I can't bear it!"

"You don't have to. "

They went into Phoebe's room and shut the door, and it was a comfortto Miriam to have two solid blocks of wood between her and thedeterioration in the chair. 

"I know I ought to stay with you--all alone in this house--no one totalk to--and at night--Are you afraid? Do you have to sleep with her?"

"Sometimes, " Helen said, and drew both hands down her face. 

"She might get up and walk about and say things. It isn't right for you, or for me and you, to have to live here. Why doesn't Zebedee dosomething? Why doesn't he take you away?"

"And leave her? I wouldn't go. The moor has hold of me, and it will keepme always. I'm rooted here, and I shall tell George to bury me on a darknight in some marshy place that's always green. And I shall make itgreener. You're frightened of me! Don't be silly! I'm saner than mostpeople, I think, but living alone makes one different, perhaps. Don'tlook like that. I'm the same Helen. "

"Yes. I won't be frightened. But why did you say 'George'?"

Helen took a breath as though she lifted something heavy. 

"Because he is my husband, " she said clearly. She had never used theword before, and she enjoyed the pain it gave her. 

There were no merciful shadows in the room: daylight poured in at thewindows and revealed Helen standing with hands clasped before her andgazing with wide eyes at Miriam's pale face, her parted lips, herhorrified amazement. 

"George?" she asked huskily. 

"Yes. "

"But why?"

"Why does one marry?"

"Oh, tell me, Helen! You can't have loved him. "

"Perhaps he loved me. "

"But--that night! Have you forgotten it?"

"No. I remember. "

"So do I! I dream about it! Helen, tell me. What was it? There'sZebedee. And it was me that George loved. "

Helen spoke sharply. "He didn't love you. You bewitched him. He lovesme. "

"You haven't told me everything. "

"There is no reason why I should. "

Miriam spoke on a sob. "You needn't be unkind. And where's your ring?You haven't said you love him. You're not really married, are you?"

"Yes, I am. "

Crying without stint, Miriam went blindly to the window. 

"I wish I hadn't come--!"

"You mustn't be unhappy. I'm not. It isn't very polite to George--orme. "

"But when--when you think of that night--Oh! You must be miserable. "

"Then you should be. "

"I?"

"It was your doing. You tormented him. You played with him. You liked todraw him on and push him back. You turned a man into a--into what we sawthat night. George isn't the only man who can be changed into a beastwhen--when he meets Circe! With me--" Her voice broke with her quickenedbreathing. Her indignation was no longer for her own maimed life: it wasfor George, who had been used lightly as a plaything, broken, and givento her for mending. 

For a long time Miriam cried, and did not speak, and when she turned toask a question Helen had almost forgotten her; for all her pity had goneout to George and beautified him and made him dear. 

"Tell me one thing, " Miriam said earnestly. "It hadn't anything to dowith me?"

"What?"

"Marrying him. You see, I fainted, didn't I?"

"Yes. "

"Something might have happened then. "

"It did. "

"What was it?"

"He fell in love with me!" She laughed. "It's possible, because ithappened! Otherwise, of course, neither of us could believe it! Oh, don't be silly. Don't look miserable. "

"I can't help it. It's my fault. It's my fault if Zebedee is unhappy andif you are. Yes, it is, because if I hadn't--Still, I don't know why youmarried him. "

"I think it was meant to be. If we look back it seems as if it must havebeen. " It was not Helen who looked through the window. "Yes, " she saidsoftly, "it is all working to one end. It had to be. Don't talk about itany more. "

Wide-eyed above her tear-stained cheeks, her throat working piteously, Miriam stared at this strange sister. "But tell me if you are happy, "she said in a breaking voice. 

"Yes, I am. I love him, " she said softly. Now, she did not lie. The pitythat had taught her to love Mildred Caniper had the same lesson inregard to George, and that night, when she looked into the garden andsaw him standing there, because he had been forbidden the house, sheleaned from her bedroom window and held out her hands and ran downstairsto speak to him. 

"You looked so lonely, " she told him. 

"Didn't you want me a little?" he asked. He looked down, big and gentle, and she felt her heart flutter as with wings. She nodded, and leanedagainst him. It was the truth: she did want him a little. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

Miriam had the evidence of her own eyes to assure her that Helen was notunhappy. The strangely united bride and bridegroom were seen on the moortogether, and they looked like lovers. Moreover, Helen stole out to meethim at odd hours, and, on the day before Miriam went away, she surprisedthem in a heathery dip of ground where Helen sewed and George readmonotonously from a book. 

"I--didn't know you were here, " Miriam stammered. 

"Well, we're not conspirators, " Helen said. "Come and sit down. Georgeis reading to me. "

"No, I don't think I will, thank you. " Until now, she had succeeded inavoiding George, but there was no escape from his courteous greeting andoutstretched hand. His manners had improved, she thought: he had notrace of awkwardness; he was cool and friendly, and, with the folly ofthe enamoured, he could no longer find her beautiful. She was at onceaware of that, and she knew the meaning of his glance at Helen, who bentover her work and did not look at them. 

"How are you?" Halkett said. 

She found it difficult to answer him, and while she told herself she didnot want his admiration, she felt that some show of embarrassment washer due. 

"I'm very well. No; I won't stay. Helen, may I take Jim?"

"If he will go with you. "

Jim refused to stir, and with the burden of that added insult, Miriamwent on her way. It seemed to her that, in the end, Helen hadeverything. 

Helen believed that the wisdom of her childhood had returned to her toteach her the true cause of happiness. For her it was born of the act ofgiving, and her knowledge of George's need was changed into a feelingthat, in its turn, transformed existence. Her mental confusion cleareditself and, concentrating her powers on him, she tried not to think ofZebedee. She would not dwell on the little, familiar things she loved inhim, nor would she speculate on his faithfulness or his pain, for hisexile was the one means of George's homecoming. And, though she did notknow it, Zebedee, loving her truly, understood the workings of her mind, and his double misery lessened to a single one when he saw her growingmore content. 

He went to Pinderwell House one fine evening, for there were few dayswhen he could find time to drive up the long road, and though MildredCaniper did not need his care, she looked for his coming every week. 

It was a placid evening after a day of heat, and he could see the smokefrom the kitchen chimney going straight and delicately towards the sky. The moor was one sheet of purple at this season, and it had a look offulfilment and of peace. It had brought forth life and had yet to see itdie, and it seemed to lie with its hands folded on its broad breast andto wait tranquilly for what might come. 

Zebedee tried to imitate that tranquillity as the old horse jogged upthe road, but he had not yet arrived at such perfection of control thathis heart did not beat faster as he knocked at Helen's door. 

Tonight there was no answer, and having knocked three times he went intothe hall, looked into each room and found all empty. He called her nameand had silence for response. He went through the kitchen to seek her inthe garden, and there, under the poplars, he saw her sitting and lookingat the tree-tops, while George smoked beside her and Jim lay at herfeet. 

It was a scene to stamp itself on the mind of a discarded lover, andwhile he took the impress he stood stonily in the doorway. He sawHalkett say a word to Helen, and she sprang up and ran across the lawn. 

"I never thought you'd come, " she said, breathing quickly. 

He moved aside so that her body should not hide him from Halkett'scareful eyes. 

"Has something happened?" she asked. "You look so white. "

"The day has been very hot. "

"Yes; up here, even, and in that dreadful little town--Are you workinghard?"

"I think so. "

"And getting rich?"

"Not a bit. "

"I don't suppose you charge them half enough, " she said, and made himlaugh. "Come and see Notya before she goes to sleep. "

"Mayn't I speak to Mr. Halkett?" he asked. 

She did not look at the two men as they stood together. Again shewatched the twinkling poplar leaves and listened to their voicesrustling between the human ones, and when she seemed to have beenlistening for hours, she said, "Zebedee, you ought to come. It's timeNotya went to sleep. "

She led him through the house, and neither spoke as they went upstairsand down again, but at the door, she said, "I'll see you drive away, "and followed him to the gate. 

She stood there until he was out of sight, and then she went slowly tothe kitchen where George was waiting for her. 

"You've been a long time. "

"Have I? I mean, yes, I have. "

"What have you been doing?"

"Standing at the gate. "

"Talking?"

"Thinking. "

"Was he thinking too?"

"I expect so. "

"H'm. Do you like him to come marching through your house?"

"Why not? He's an old friend of ours. "

"He seems to be! You were in a hurry to get away from me, I noticed, andthen you have to waste time mooning with him in the twilight. "

"He wasn't there, George. " She laid the back of her hand against herforehead. "I watched him out of sight. "

"What for?"

"He looked so lonely, going home to--that. Are you always going to bejealous of any one who speaks to me? It's rather tiring. "

"Are you tired?"

"Yes, " she said with a jerk, and pressed her lips together. He pulledher to his knee, and she put her face against his strong, tanned neck. 

"Well, " he said, "what's this for?"

"Don't tease me. "

"I'm not so bad, then, am I?"

"Not so bad, " she answered. "You have been smoking one of those cigars. "

"Yes. D'you mind?"

"I love the smell of them, " she said, and he laid his cheek heavily onhers. 

"George!"

"U-um?" he said, drowsing over her. 

"I think the rest of the summer is going to be happy. "

"Yes, but how long's this to last? I want you in my house. "

"I wish it wasn't in a hollow. "

"What difference does that make? We're sheltered from the wind. We liesnug on winter nights. "

"I don't want to. I like to hear the wind come howling across the moorand beat against the walls as if it had great wings. It does one'scrying for one. "

"Do you want to cry?"

"Yes. "

"Now?"

"No. "

"When, then?"

"Don't you?"

"Of course not. I swear instead. " He shook her gently. "Tell me when youwant to cry. "

"Oh, just when the wind does it for me, " she said sleepily. 

"I'll never understand you. "

"Yes, you will. I'm very simple, and now I'm half asleep. "

"Shall I carry you upstairs?"

She shook her head. 

"Helen, come to my house. Bring Mrs. Caniper. I want you. And the wholemoor's talking about the way we live. "

"Oh, let the moor talk! Don't you love to hear it? It's the voice I lovebest. I shan't like living in your house while this one stands. "

"But you'll have to. "

She put up a finger. "I didn't say I wouldn't. Will you never learn totrust me?"

"I am learning, " he said. 

"And you must be patient. Most people are engaged before they marry. Youmarried me at once. "

"Hush!" he said. "I don't like thinking about that. "

After this confession, her mind crept a step forward, and she dared tolook towards a time when Mildred Caniper would be dead and she atHalkett's Farm. The larch-lined hollow would half suffocate her, shebelieved, but she would grow accustomed to its closeness as she wouldgrow used to George and George to her. Soon he would completely trusther. He would learn to ask her counsel, and, at night, she would sit andsew and listen to his talk of crops and cattle, and the doings andmisdoings of his men. He would have no more shyness of her, butsometimes she would startle him into a memory of how he had wooed her inthe kitchen and seen her as a star. And she would have children: notthose shining ones who were to have lived in the beautiful bare housewith her and Zebedee, but sturdy creatures with George's mark on them. She would become middle-aged and lose her slenderness, and half forgetshe had ever been Helen Caniper; yet George and the children wouldalways be a little strange to her, and only when she was alone and onthe moor would she renew her sense of self and be afraid of it. 

The prospect did not daunt her, for she had faith in her capacity tobear anything except the love of Zebedee for another woman. She ignoredher selfishness towards him because the need to keep him was as strongas any other instinct: he was hers, and she had the right to make himsuffer, and, though she honestly tried to shut her thoughts against him, when she did think of him it was to own him, to feel a dangerous joy inthe memory of his thin face and tightened lips. 

On the moor, harvests were always late, and George was gathering hay inAugust when richer country was ready to deliver up its corn, and oneafternoon when he was carting hay from the fields beyond the farm, Helenwalked into the town, leaving Lily Brent in charge of Mildred Caniper. 

Helen had seldom been into the town since the day when she had marriedGeorge, and the wind, trying to force her back, had beaten the bodythat was of no more value to her. Things were better now, and she hadavenged herself gaily on the god behind the smoke. He had heard fewsounds of weeping and he had not driven her from the moor: he had merelylost a suppliant and changed a girl into a woman, and today, in herindependence of fate, she would walk down the long road and plant apleasant thought at every step, and she need not look at the squarehouse which Zebedee had bought for her. 

She had told George to meet her at the side road if he had any errandsfor her in the town, and though he had none, he was there before her. Watching her approach, he thought he had never seen her lovelier. Shewore a dress and hat of Miriam's choosing, the one of cream colour andthe other black, and the beauty of their simple lines added to the gracethat could still awe him. 

"You look--like a swan, " he said. 

"Oh, George, a horrid bird!" She came close and looked up, for she likedto see him puzzled and adoring. 

"It's the way you walk--and the white. And that little black hat for abeak. "

"Well, swan or not, " she said, and laughed, "you think I look nice, don't you?"

"I should think I do!" He stepped back to gaze at her. "You must alwayshave clothes like that. There's no need for you to make your own. "

"But I like my funny little dresses! Don't I generally please you? Haveyou been thinking me ugly all this time?"

He did not answer that. "I wish I was coming with you. "

"You mustn't. There are hay-seeds on you everywhere. Is the field nearlyfinished? George, you are not answering questions!"

"I'm thinking about you. Helen, you needn't go just yet. Sit down underthis tree. You're lovely. And I love you. Helen, you love me! You'redifferent now. Will you wear that ring?"

Her mind could not refuse it; she was willing to wear the badge of hersubmission and so make it complete, and she gave a shuddering sigh. "Oh, George--"

"Yes, yes, you will. Look, here it is. I always have it with me. Give meyour little hand. Isn't it bright and heavy? Do you like it?" He heldher closely. "And my working clothes against your pretty frock! D'youmind?"

"No. " She was looking at the gold band on her finger. "It's heavy, George. "

"I chose a heavy one. "

"Have you had it in your pocket all the time?"

"All the time. "

He and she had been alike in cherishing a ring, but when she reachedhome she would take Zebedee's from its place and hide it safely. Shecould not give it back to him: she could not wear it now. 

"I must go, " she said, and freed herself. 

He kissed the banded finger. "Be quick and come back and let me see youwearing it again. "

It weighted her, and she went more slowly down the road, feeling thatthe new weight was a symbol, and when she looked back and saw Georgestanding where she had left him, she uttered a small cry he could nothear and ran to him. 

"George, you must always love me now. You--I--"

"What is it, love?"

"Nothing. Let me go. Good-bye, " she said, and walked on at her slowpace. Light winds brought summer smells to her, clouds made lakes ofshadow on the moor, and here, where few trees grew and little trafficpassed, there were no dusty leaves to tell of summer's age; yet, in theair, there was a smell of flowers changing to fruit. 

She passed the gorse bushes in their second blossoming, and the moor, stretched before her, was as her life promised to be: it was monotonousin its bright colouring, quiet and serene, broad-bosomed for itschildren. Old sheep looked up at her as she went by, and she saw herselfin some relationship to them. They were the sport of men, and so wasshe, yet perhaps God had some care of them and her. It was she and thegreat God of whose existence she was dimly sure who had to contrivehonourable life for her, and the one to whom she had yearly prayed mustremain in his own place, veiled by the smoke of the red fires, asurvival and a link like the remembrance of her virginity. 

So young in years, so wise in experience of the soul, she thought therewas little more for her to learn, but acquaintance with birth and deathawaited her: they were like beacons to be lighted on her path, and shehad no fear of them. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

She did her shopping in her unhurried, careful way, and went on to theoutfitter who made John's corduroy trousers. Clothes that looked as ifthey were made of cardboard hung outside the shop; unyielding coats, waistcoats and trousers seemed to be glued against the door: stockings, suspended by their gaudy tops, flaunted stiff toes in the breeze, andpiles of more manageable garments were massed on chairs inside, andHelen was aghast at the presence of so many semblances of man. 

It was dark in the shop, and the smell of fustian absorbed the air. Theowner, who wore an intricately-patterned tie, stood on the pavement andtalked to a friend, while a youth, pale through living in obscurity, lured Helen in. 

She gave her order: two pairs of corduroy trousers to be made for Mr. Caniper of Brent Farm, to the same measurements as before: she wished tosee the stuff. 

"If you'll take a seat, miss--"

She would rather stand outside the door, she said, and he agreed thatthe day was warm. 

The narrow street was thronged with people who were neither of the townnor of the country, and suffered the disabilities of the hybrid. Therewere few keen or beautiful faces, and if there were fine bodies theywere hidden under clumsy clothes. Helen wanted to strip them all, andstraighten them, and force them into health and comeliness, and thoughshe would not have her moor peopled by them, she wished they might allhave moors of their own. 

The young man was very slow. She could hear him struggling with bales ofcloth and breathing heavily. It was much hotter here than on the moor, and she supposed that human beings could grow accustomed to any smell, but she stepped further towards the kerbstone and drew in what air thestreet could spare to her. 

Quite unconscious of her fairness against the dingy background, shewatched the moving people and heard the talk of the two men near her. They spoke of the hay crop, the price of bacon, the mismanagement of thegas company, and the words fell among the footsteps of the passers-by, and the noise of wheels, and became one dull confusion of sound to her;but all sounds fainted and most sights grew misty when she saw Zebedeewalking on the other side of the street, looking down as he went, butbending an ear to the girl beside him. 

Men and women flitted like shadows between him and Helen, but she sawplainly enough. Zebedee was interested: he nodded twice, looked at thegirl and laughed, while she walked sideways in her eagerness. She wasyoung and pretty: no one, Helen thought, had ever married her. 

The noise of the street rushed on her again, and she heard the shopmansay, "That's a case, I think. I've seen that couple about before. Timehe was married, too. "

Slowly Helen turned a head, which felt stiff and swollen, to look at theperson who could say so. She restrained a desire to hold it, and, stepping to the threshold of the shop, she called into the depths thatshe would soon return. 

Without any attempt at secrecy she followed that pair absorbed in oneanother. She went because there was no choice, she was impelled by hernecessity to know and unhindered by any scruples, and when she had seenthe two pass down the quiet road leading to his house, with his hand onher elbow and her face turned to his, Helen went back to the young manand the bales of cloth. 

She chose the corduroy and left the shop, and it was not long before shefound herself outside the town, but she could remember nothing of herpassage. She came to a standstill where the moor road stretched beforeher, and there she suffered realization to fall on her with the weightof many waters. She cried out under the shock, and, turning, she ranwithout stopping until she came to Zebedee's door. 

An astonished maid tried not to stare at this flushed and elegant lady. 

"The doctor is engaged, miss, " she said. 

"I shall wait. Please tell him that I must see him. "

"What name shall I say?"

"Miss Caniper. Miss Helen Caniper. " She had no memory of any other. 

She sat on one of the hard leather chairs and looked at a fern that diedreluctantly in the middle of the table. Her eyes burned and would not beeased by tears, her heart leapt erratically in her breast, yet the onegrievance of which she was exactly conscious was that Zebedee had a newservant and had not told her. If she had to have her tinker, surelyZebedee might have kept Eliza. She was invaded by a cruel feeling of hisinjustice; but her thoughts grew vague as she sat there, and her drylips parted and closed, as though they tried to frame words and couldnot. For what seemed a long, long time, she could hear the sound ofvoices through the wall: then the study door was opened, a girl laughed, Zebedee spoke; another door was opened, there were steps on the path andthe gate clicked. She sat motionless, still staring at the fern, butwhen Zebedee entered she looked up at him and spoke. 

"Zebedee, " she said miserably. 

"Come into my room, " he said. 

The door was shut on them, and she dropped against it. 

"Zebedee, I can't bear it. "

"My little life!"

"I was so happy, " she said piteously, "and, in the street, I saw youwith that girl. You held her arm, and I had to come to you. I had, Zebedee. "

"Had you, dear?" he said. He was pulling off her gloves, gently andquickly, holding each wrist in turn, and together they looked at thebroad band of gold. Their eyes met in a pain beyond the reach of words. 

She bowed her head, but not in shame. 

"My hat, too, " she said, and he found the pins and took it from her. 

"Your ring is here, " she said, and touched herself. Her lips trembled. "I can't go back. "

"You need not, dearest one. Sit down. I must go and speak to Mary. "

"She is better than Eliza, " Helen said when he returned. 

"Yes, better than Eliza. " He spoke soothingly. "Are you comfortablethere? Tell me about it, dear. " He folded his arms and leaned againsthis desk, and as he watched her he saw the look of strain pass from herface. 

She smiled at him. "Your cheeks are twitching. "

"Are they?"

"They always do when you think hard. "

"You are sitting where you sat when you first came here. "

"And there were no cakes. "

"Only buns. "

"And they were stale. "

"You said you liked them. "

"I liked--everything--that day. "

"I think, " he said, jerking his chin upwards, "we won't have anyreminiscences. "

"Why not?" she asked softly. She went to him and put her arms round hisneck. "It's no good, Zebedee. I've tried. I really loved him--but it'syou--I belong to you. " He could hardly hear what she said. "Can you loveme any longer? I've been--his. I've liked it. I was ready to doanything--like that--for him. "

"Speak a little louder, dear. "

"You see, one could forget. And I did think about children, Zebedee, Icouldn't help it. "

"Precious, of course you couldn't. "

"But you were always mine. And when I saw you this afternoon, there wasno one else. And no one else can have you. You don't love any one butme. How could you? She can't have you. I want you. And you're mine. Yourhands--and eyes--and face--this cheek--You--you--I can't--I don't knowwhat I'm saying. I can't go back! He'll--he put this ring on me today. Ilet him. I was glad--somehow. Glad!" She broke away from him and burstinto a fit of weeping. 

He knew the properties of her tears, and he had no hope of any gain butwhat could come to him by way of her renewed serenity; he made shift tobe content with that, and though the sound of her crying hurt himviolently, he smiled at her insistence on possessing him. She hadmarried another man, but she would not resign her rights to the one shehad deserted, though he, poor soul, must claim none. It was one of theinconsistencies he loved in her, and he was still smiling when sheraised her head from the arm of the chair where she had laid it. 

"I'm sorry, Zebedee. I'm better now. I'm--all right. "

"Wipe your eyes, Best of all. We're going to have some tea. Can you looklike some one with a--with a nervous breakdown?"

"Quite easily. Isn't that just what I have had?"

Mary was defter than Eliza and apparently less curious, and while shecame and went they talked, like the outfitter and his friend, about thecrops; but when she had gone Zebedee moved the table to the side ofHelen's chair, so that, as long ago, no part of her should be concealed. 

"Yes, " he said, looking down, "but I like you better in your greyfrocks. "

"Do you? Do you? I'm glad, " she said, but she did not tell him why. Hereyes were shining, and he found her no less beautiful for their reddenedrims. "You are the most wonderful person in the world, " she said. "Itwas unkind of me to come, wasn't it?"

"No, dear. Nothing is unkind when you do it. "

"But it was, Zebedee. Because I'm going back, after all. "

"I knew you would. "

"Did you? I must, you know. "

"Yes, " he said, "I know. Helen, that girl--Daniel's in love with her. "

"Oh, poor Miriam! Another renegade! But I'm not jealous any more, sodon't explain. "

"But I want to tell you about her. He pursues and she wearies of him. I'm afraid he's a dreadful bore. "

"But that's no reason why you should take her arm. "

"Did I take it? I like her. I wish she would marry Daniel, but he isinstructive in his love-making. He has no perceptions. I'm doing my bestfor him, but he won't take my advice. Yes, I like her, but I shall neverlove any one but you. "

"Oh, no, you couldn't really. But see what I have had to do!" Her eyeswere tired with crying. "And have to do, " she added in a lower tone. "Itmakes one think anything might happen. One loses faith. But now, herewith you, I could laugh at having doubted. Yes, I can laugh at that, andmore. That's the best of crying. It makes one laugh afterwards and seeclearly. I can be amused at my struggles now and see how small theywere. "

"But what of mine?" he asked. 

"I meant yours, too. We are not separate. No. Even now that I--that Ihave a little love for George. He's rather like a baby, Zebedee. And hedoesn't come between. Be sure of that; always, always!"

"Dearest, Loveliest, if you will stay with me--Well, I'm here when youneed me, and you know that. "

"Yes. " She looked beyond him. "Coming here, this afternoon, I saw theway. I made it beautiful. And then I saw you, and the mists came downand I saw nothing else. But now I see everything by the light of you. "There was a pause. "I've never loved you more, " she said. "And I want totell you something. " She spoke on a rising note. "To me you areeverything that is good and true--and kind and loving. There is no limitto your goodness. You never scold me, you don't complain, you still waitin case I need you. I ought not to allow you to do that, but some day, some day, perhaps I'll be as good as you are. I want you to rememberthat you have been perfect to me. " She said the word again and lingeredon it. "Perfect. If I have a son, I hope he'll be like you. I'll try tomake him. "

"Helen--"

"Wait a minute. I want to say some more. I'm not going back because I amafraid of breaking rules. I don't know anything about them, but I knowabout myself, and I'm going back because, for me, it's the only thing todo; and you see, " she looked imploringly at him, "George needs me nowmore than he did before. He trusts to me. "

"It is for you to choose, Beloved. "

"Yes, " she said. "There's nothing splendid about me. I'm just--tame. Iwish I were different, Zebedee. "

"Then you are the only one who wishes it. "

She laughed a little and stood close to him. 

"Bless me before I go, for now I have to learn it all again. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Helen had a greeting ready for each turn of the road, but George did notappear. She looked for him at the side road to the farm, and she waitedthere for a while. She had thought he would be on the watch for her, andshe had hoped for him. Since they had to meet, let it be soon: let herheart learn to beat submissively again, and the mouth kissed by Zebedeeto take kisses from another. But he did not come, and later, when shehad helped Mildred Caniper to bed, Helen sat on the moor to waylay andwelcome him, and make amends for her unfaithfulness. 

The night was beautiful; the light wind had dropped, the sky was setwith stars, and small, pale moths made clouds above the heather. Whenshe shook a tuft of it, there came forth a sweet, dry smell. She lookedin wonder on the beauty of the world. Here, on the moor, there were suchthings to see and hear and smell that it would be strange if she couldnot find peace. In the town, it would be harder: it would be harder forZebedee, though he had his work and loved it as she loved the moor, andshe caught her breath sharply as she remembered his white face. Therewere matters of which it was not wise to think too much, and what needwas there when he wanted her to be content, when the stars and a slip ofa new moon shone in a tender sky, and birds made stealthy noises, not towake the world?

Once more it seemed to her that men and women saw happiness and sorrowin a view too personal, and each individual too much isolated from therest. Here she sat, a tiny creature on the greatness of the moor, a mereheartbeat in a vast life. If the heart missed a beat, the life wouldstill go on, yet it was her part to make the beat a strong and steadyone. 

She wanted George to come, but she had a new fear of him. She might havelived a thousand years since she had parted from him a few hours back, and her instinct was to run away as from a stranger, but she would sitthere until he was quite close, and then she would call his name and putout her hand, the one that wore his ring, and he would pull her up andtake her home. She bowed her head to her knees. Well, already she hadmuch that other people missed: that young man in the shop had not theselittle moths and the springing heather with purple flowers and the starthat shone like a friend above her home. 

The night grew darker: colour was sucked from the moor, and it lay asblack as deep lake water, blacker than the sky. It was time that countryfolks were in their beds, and the Brent Farm lights went out as at asignal. 

Helen went slowly through the garden and up the stairs, and when she hadundressed she sat beside her window, wondering why George had not come. Surely she would have heard if any accident had befallen him?

The quiet of the night assured her that all was well: the poplars wereconcerned with their enduring effort to reach the sky; a cat went like amoving drop of ink across the lawn. She stretched out for her dressinggown and put it round her shoulders, and she sat there, leaning on thewindow ledge and looking into the garden until her eyelids dropped andresisted when she tried to raise them. 

She had almost fallen asleep when she heard a familiar noise outside herdoor. She stood up and met George as he entered. 

"I'm glad you've come. " She put out a timid hand to touch him and had itbrushed aside. 

"Out of my way!" he said, pushing past her. 

She saw he had been drinking though he was not drunk. His eyes werered, and he looked at her as though he priced her, with such anexpression of disdaining a cheap thing that she learnt, in that moment, the pain of all poor women dishonoured. Yet she followed him and madehim turn to her. 

"What have you been doing?" she said. "I have been waiting for so long. "

There came on his face the sneering look she had not lately seen, and inhis throat he made noises that for a little while did not come to words. 

"Ah! I've been into town, too; you little devil, pranking yourself out, coming to me so soft and gentle--kissing--Here!" He took her by thewrist and dragged the ring from her and made to throw it into the night. "But no, " he said slowly. "No. I think not. Come here again. You shallwear it; you shall wear it to your dying day. "

"I'm willing to, " she said. His arm was round her, hurting her. "Tell mewhat's the matter, George. "

He gripped her fiercely and let her go so that she staggered. 

"Get back! I don't want to touch you!" Then he mimicked her. "'Won't youever learn to trust me?' I'd learnt. I'd have given you my soul to carefor. I--I'd done it--and you took it to the doctor!"

"No, " she said. "I took my own. " She was shaking; her bare feet were icecold. "George--"

"You lied about him! Yes, you did! You who are forever talking abouthonesty!"

"I didn't lie. I didn't tell you the whole truth, but now I will, thoughI've never asked for any of your confessions. I shouldn't like to hearthem. I suppose you saw me this afternoon?"

"Ay, I did. I saw you turn and run like a rabbit to that man's house. I'd come to meet you, my God! I was happy. You'd my ring at last. Ifollowed you. I waited. I saw you come out, white, shaking, the wayyou're shaking now. " He dropped into a chair. "Dirt! Dirt!" he moaned. 

She made a sad little gesture at that word and began to walk up and downthe room. The grey dressing gown was slung about her shoulders like ashawl, and he watched the moving feet. 

"And then you went and had a drink, " she said. "Yes. I don't blame you. That's what I was having, too. And my thirst is quenched. I'm not goingto be thirsty any more. I had a long drink of the freshest, loveliestwater, but I'll never taste it again. I'll never forget it either. " Fora time there was no sound but that of her bare feet on the bare floor. "What did you think I was doing there?" she whispered, and her pace grewfaster. 

His tone insulted her. "God knows!"

"Oh, yes. "

"Kissing--I don't know. I don't know what you're equal to, with thatsmooth face of yours. "

She halted in her march and stood before him. "I did kiss him. I'm glad. There is no one so good in the whole world. "

She pressed her clasped hands against her throat. "I love him. I lovedhim before I promised to marry you. I love him still. No one could helpdoing that, I think. But it's different now. It has to be. I'm not hiswife. I went to say--I went there, and I said good-bye to all that. Icame back to you. You needn't be afraid--or jealous any more. I'm yourwife, George, and I'll do my share. I promise. " She started on her walkagain, and still he watched the small, white feet. 

"And I'm not outraged by what you've said, " she went on in a voice hehad not heard so coldly clear. "Men like you are so ready with abuse. Have you always been virtuous? You ask what you would never allow me toclaim. "

He looked up. "Since I married you--since I loved you--And I neverwill. "

She laughed a little. "And I won't either. That's another bargain, but Iknow--I know too much about temptation, about love, to call lovers bybad names. And if you don't, it's your misfortune, George. I think you'dbetter go home and think about it. "

He made an uncertain movement. He was like a child, she thought; he hadto be commanded or cajoled, and her heart softened towards him becausehe was dumb and helpless. 

"Let us be honest friends, " she pleaded. "Yes, honest, George. I knowI've talked a lot of honesty, and I had no right; but now I think Ihave, because I've told you everything and we can start afresh. Ithought I was better than you, but now I know I'm not, and I'm sorry, George. "

He looked up. "Helen--"

"Well?" She was on her knees before him, and her hands were persuadinghis to hold them. 

He muttered something. 

"I didn't hear. "

"I beg your pardon, " he said again, and, as she heard the words, shelaughed and cried out, "No, no! I don't want you to say that! You've topossess me. Honour me, too, but always possess me!" She leaned back tolook at him. "That's what you must do. You are that kind of man, so bigand strong and--and stupid, George! Love me enough, and it will be likebeing buried in good earth. Can't you love me enough?" Her eyes wereluminous and tender. She was fighting for two lives, for more that mightbe born. 

"Buried? I don't know what you mean, " he said; "but come you here!"

Her face was crushed against him, and it was indeed as though she werecovered by something dark and warm and heavy. She might hear belovedfootsteps, now and then, but they would not trouble her. Down there, sheknew too much to be disturbed, too much to be hurt for ever by herlover's pain: he, too, would know a blessed burying. 

It was not she who heard the opening of the bedroom door, but she feltherself being gently pushed from George's breast, and she had a strangefeeling that some one was shovelling away the earth which she had foundso merciful. 

"No, " she said. "Don't. I like it. "

"Helen!" she heard George say, and she turned to see Mildred Caniper onthe threshold. 

"I heard voices, " she said, looking a little dazed, but standing withher old straightness. "Who is here? It's Helen! It's--Helen! Oh, Helen--you!" Her face hardened, and her voice was the one of Helen'schildhood. "I am afraid I must ask for an explanation of thisextraordinary conduct. "

The words were hardly done before she fell heavily to the floor. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

Mildred Caniper died two days afterwards, without opening her eyes. Dayand night, Helen watched and wondered whether, behind that mask, themind was moving to acquaintance with the truth. Between life and death, she imagined a grey land where things were naked, neither clothed indisguising garments nor in glory. It might be that, for the first time, Mildred saw herself, looked into her own life and all the lives sheknew, and gained a wider knowledge for the next. Nevertheless, it washorrible to Helen that Mildred Caniper had finally shut her eyes on thescene that killed her, and, for her last impression, had one of falsityand licence. Helen prayed that it might be removed, and, as she keptwatch that first night, she told her all. There might be a little crannythrough which the words could go, and she longed for a look or touch offorgiveness and farewell. She loved this woman whom she had served, butthere were to be no more messages between them, and Mildred Caniper diedwith no other sound than the lessening of the sighing breaths she drew. 

Zebedee guessed the nature of the shock that killed her, but only Georgeand Helen knew, and for them it was another bond; they saw each othernow with the eyes of those who have looked together on something neverto be spoken of and never to be forgotten. She liked to have him withher, and he was dumb with pity for her and with regrets. To Miriam, whenshe arrived, it was an astonishment to find them sitting in theschoolroom, hand in hand, so much absorbed in their common knowledgethat they did not loose their grasp at her approach, but sat on likelost, bewildered children in a wood. 

Wherever Helen went, he followed, clumsy but protective, peering at heranxiously as though he feared something terrible would happen to her, too. 

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked her. 

"What?"

"Having me. "

"I like it--but there's your hay. "

"There's hay every year, " he answered. 

 * * * * *

Uncle Alfred moved quietly about the house, stood uneasily at a window, or drifted into the garden, swinging his eyeglass, his expressiontroubled, his whole being puzzled by the capacity of his relatives to bedramatic, without apparent realization of their gift. Here was a sistersuddenly dead, a niece wandering hand in hand with the man from whomanother niece had fled, while the discarded lover acted the part offamily friend; and that family preserved its admirable trick of askingno question, of accepting each member's right to its own actions. OnlyMiriam, now and then catching his eye in the friendly understanding theyhad established, seemed to make a criticism without a comment, and topromise him that, foolish as she was, he need not fear results onHelen's colossal scale. 

It was Rupert who could best appreciate Helen's attitude, and when hewas not thinking of the things he might have done for a woman he couldhelp no longer, he was watching his sister and her impassivity, herunfailing gentleness to George, the perfection of her manner to Zebedee. She satisfied his sense of what was fitting, and gave him the kind ofpleasure to be derived from the simple and candid handiwork of a master. 

"If tragedy produces this kind of thing, " he said to John with agesture, "the suffering is much more than worth while--from thespectator's point of view. "

"I don't know what you are talking about, " John said. 

"The way she manages those two. "

"Who? And which?"

"Good Lord, man! Haven't you seen it? Helen and the two suitors. "

John grunted. "Oh--that!" He had not yet learnt to speak of the affairwith any patience. 

 * * * * *

Mildred Caniper had left the house and all it held to Helen. 

"I suppose you'll try to let it, " Rupert said. "I don't like to think ofthat, though. Helen, I wish she hadn't died. Do you think we were moreunpleasant than we need have been?"

"Not much. She was unpleasanter than we were, really, but then--"

"Heavens, yes. What a life!"

Her lips framed the words in echo, but she did not utter them, thoughshe alone had the right. 

"So perhaps I am not sorry she is dead, " Rupert said. 

Helen's lips tilted in a smile. "I don't think you need ever be sorrythat any one is dead, " she said, and before she could hear what herwords told him, he spoke quickly. 

"Well, what about this house?"

"I shan't let it. "

"Will you live here?"

"No. I'm going to George, but no one else shall have it. I don't thinkthe Pinderwells would be happy. Is there any furniture you want? You canhave anything except what's in the dining-room. That's for Zebedee. Hisown is hideous. "

To Zebedee she said, "You'll take it, won't you?"

"I've always taken everything you've given me, " he said, and with thewords they seemed to look at each other fairly for the last time. 

"And don't have any more dead ferns, " she told him. "There was one inthe dining-room the other day. You must keep fresh flowers on Mr. Pinderwell's table. "

"I shall remember. "

Nothing was left in the house except the picture of Mr. Pinderwell'sbride, who smiled as prettily on the empty room as on the furnished one. 

"She must stay with Mr. Pinderwell, " Helen said. "What would he do if hefound her gone? I wonder if they'll miss us. "

She refused to leave the house until the last cart had gone down theroad at which Helen must no longer look in hope. She watched the slowdeparture of the cart and held to the garden gate, rubbing it with herhands. She looked up at the long house with its wise, unblinking eyes. She had to leave it: George was waiting for her at the farm, but thehouse was like a part of her, and she was not complete when she turnedaway from it. 

There was daylight on the moor, but when she dipped into the larch-woodshe found it was already night, and night lay on the cobbled courtyard, on the farmhouse, and on George, who waited in the doorway. 

"You're like you were before, " he said. "A silver star coming throughthe trees--coming to me. " He took her hand. "I don't know why you doit, " he murmured, and led her in. 

They slept in a room papered with a pattern of roses and furnished witha great fourposted bed. It was the room in which George Halkett and hisfather had been born, the best bedroom for many generations. The chinaon the heavy washstand had pink roses on it, too, and the house wasfragrant with real roses, burning wood, clean, scented linen. Jasminegrew round the window and nodded in. 

"Are you going to be happy?" George asked her, when the warm darknessdropped on them like another coverlet, and she hardly knew that it wasshe who reassured him. Could it be Helen Caniper in this room with thelow ceiling and farmhouse smells, this bridal chamber of the Halketts?Helen Caniper seemed to have disappeared. 

She woke when she had been asleep for a little while, and at first shecould not remember where she was; then the window darted out of thedarkness and the furniture took on shapes. She looked up and saw thelooming canopy of the bed, she heard George breathing beside her, andsuddenly she felt suffocated by the draperies and the low ceiling andthe remembrance of the big pink roses growing on the wall. 

She slid to the edge of the bed and out of it. The carpet was harsh toher feet, but, by the window, the bare boards soothed them. 

There were dark clouds floating against the sky, and the larches lookedlike another cloud dropped down until she saw their crests, spear-likeand piercing: they hid the moor in its livery of night. 

She turned her head and listened to the sleeper, who did not stir exceptto breathe. She wanted to see her moor and the house where thePinderwells were walking and wondering at its emptiness. George wouldnot hear her if she dressed and left the room, and, having done so, shestood outside the door and listened before she fumbled her way along thepassages. 

She sped through the larches, but when her feet touched the heather theywent more slowly, and now it was she who might have been a cloud, trailing across the moor. So she went until she saw the house, and thenshe ran towards it, startling the rabbits, hearing the blur of wings, and feeling the ping or flutter of insects against her face. 

The doors were locked, but the kitchen window was not hasped, andthrough it she climbed. The room had an unfamiliar look: it wasdismantled, and ghostly heaps of straw and paper lay where the men hadleft them, yet this was still her home: nothing could exile her. 

She went into the hall and into each bare room, but she could not goupstairs. It was bad enough to see Mr. Pinderwell walking up and down, and she could not face the children whom she had deserted. She sat onthe stairs, and the darkness seemed to shift about her. She thought ofthe bedroom she had left, and it seemed to her that there would never bea night when she would not leave it to find her own, nor a day when, asshe worked in the hollow, her heart would not be here. Yet she was HelenHalkett, and she belonged to Halkett's Farm. 

She rose and walked into the kitchen and slipped her hand along themantelshelf to find a box of matches she had left there. 

She was going to end the struggle. She could not burn Zebedee, but shecould burn the house. The rooms where he had made love to her shouldstand no longer, and so her spirit might find a habitation where herbody lived. 

She piled paper and straw against the windows and the doors, and set alighted match to them; then she went to the moor and waited. She mighthave done it in a dream, for her indifference: it was no more to herthan having lighted a few twigs in the heather; but when she saw theflames climbing up like red and yellow giants, she was afraid. Therewere hundreds of giants, throwing up hands and arms and trying to reachthe roof. They fought with each other as they struggled, and the darksky made a mirror for their fights. 

The poplars were being scorched, and she cried out at that discovery. Oh, the poplars! the poplars! How they must suffer! And how their leaveswould drop, black and shrivelled, a black harvest to strew the lawn. Shethought she heard the shouting of the Pinderwells, but she knew theiragony would be short, and already they were silent. The poplars werestill in pain, and she ran to the front of the house that she might notsee them. 

There was a figure coming up the track. It was John, with his trouserspulled over his night things. 

"God! What's up?" he cried. 

"It's the house--only the house burning. There's no one there. "

He looked into the face that was all black and white, like cinders; thenat the flames, red and yellow, like live coals, and he held her by thearm because he did not like the look of her. 

A man came running up. It was Halkett's William. 

"Have you seen the master? He went round by the back. "

"Go and look for him. Tell him his wife's here. I'll search the front. "

Both men ran, shouting, but it was Helen who saw George at the window ofMildred Caniper's room. 

She rushed into the garden where the heat was scorching, she heard hisjoyful "Helen!" as he saw her, and she held out her arms to him andcalled his name. 

She saw him look back. 

"I'll have to jump!" he shouted. 

"Oh, George, come quickly!"

There were flames all round him as he leapt, and there were small oneslicking his clothes when he fell at her feet. 

"His neck's broke, " William said. 

They carried him on to the moor, and there he lay in the heather. Shewould not have him touched. She crouched beside him, watching the flamesgrow and lessen, and when only smoke rose from the blackened heap, shestill sat on. 

"I'm waiting for Zebedee, " she said. 

John sent for him, and he came, flogging his horse as a merciful manmay, and when she saw him on the road, she went to meet him. 

She put both hands on the shaft. "I set the house on fire, " she said, looking up. "I didn't think of George. He was asleep. I had to burn it. But I've killed him, too. First there was Notya, and now George. I'vekilled them both. His neck is broken. William said, 'His neck's broke, 'that's all, but he cried. Come and see him. He hasn't moved, but he wastoo big to die. I've killed him, but I held my arms out to him when hejumped. "