ds towards
them, to be shot?"

"It's sport," rejoined the other indifferently.

"I see. And here are the old cartridges." A heap of them lay close by
amid the ling. "I don't wonder that Mr. March seemed a little ashamed
of himself."

"But surely you knew all about this sort of thing!" said Mrs. Borisoff,
with a little laugh of impatience.

"No, I didn't."

She had picked up one of the cartridge-cases, and, after examining it,
her eyes wandered about the vast-rolling moor. The wind sang low; the
clouds sailed across the mighty dome of heaven; not a human dwelling
was visible, and not a sound broke upon nature's infinite calm.

"It amazes me," Irene continued, subduing her voice.

"Incredible that men can come up here just to bang guns and see
beautiful birds fall dead! One would think that what they _saw_ here
would stop their hands--that this silence would fill their minds and
hearts, and make it impossible!"

Her voice had never trembled with such emotion in Helen's hearing. It
was not Irene's habit to speak in this way. She had the native
reticence of English women, preferring to keep silence when she felt
strongly, or to disguise her feeling with irony and jest. But the hour
and the place overcame her; a noble passion shone in her clear eyes,
and thrilled in her utterance.

"What barbarians!"

"Yet you know they are nothing of the kind," objected Helen. "At least,
not all of them."

"Mr. March?--You called him, yourself, a fine barbarian, quoting from
Matthew Arnold. I never before understood how true that description
was."

"I assure you, it doesn't apply to him, whatever I may have said in
joke. This shooting is the tradition of a certain class. It's one of
the ways in which great, strong men get their necessary exercise. Some
of them feel, at moments, just as you do, I've no doubt; but there they
are, a lot of them together, and a man can't make himself ridiculous,
you know."

"You're not like yourself in this, Helen," said Irene. "You're not
speaking as you think. Another time, you'll confess it's abominable
savagery, with not one good word to be said for it. And more
contemptible than I ever suspected! I'm so glad I've seen this. It
helps to clear my thoughts about--about things in general."

She flung away the little yellow cylinder-flung it far from her with
disgust, and, as if to forget it, plucked as she walked on a spray of
heath, which glowed with its purple bells among the redder ling.