ed fittingly, she
would face whatever ghosts Maurice had power to raise.

"I'm going for a walk," she told May, "by myself. I want to tell Maurice
not to hang about here any more because it gets on my nerves."

"I'll look after Frank when you're gone," said May.

"Don't let him eat any more wool off that lamb of his, will you?"

"All right."

"I sha'n't be long. Or I don't expect so."

"If he comes back from Plymouth before you come in, where shall I say
you've gone?" May asked.

"Oh, tell him 'Rats!' I can't help his troubles. So long," said Jenny
emphatically.

"Say 'ta--ta' nicely to your mother, young Frank," commanded Aunt May.

As Jenny faded into the mist, the boy hammered his farewells upon the
window-pane; and for awhile in the colorless air she saw his rosy cheeks
burning like lamps, or like the love for him in her own heart. Before
she turned up the drive, she waited to listen for the click and tinkle
of Granfa's horticulture, but there was no sound of his spade. Farther
along she met Thomas.

"Morning! Mrs. Trewhella!"

"Morning, young Thomas."

"Going for a walk, are 'ee?"

"On the cliffs," Jenny nodded.

"You be careful how you do walk there. I wouldn't like for 'ee to fall
over."

"Don't you worry. I'll take jolly good care I don't do that."

"Well, anybody ought to be careful on they cliffs. Nasty old place that
is on a foggy morning." Then as she became in a few steps a wraith, he
chanted in farewell courtesy, "Mrs. Trewhella!"

Along the farm road Jenny found herself continually turning round to
detect in her wake an unseen follower. She had a feeling of pursuit
through the shifting vagueness all around, and stopped to listen. There
was no footstep: only the drip-drip, drip-drip of the fog from the elm
boughs. Before she knew that she had gone so far, the noise of the sea
sounded from the grayness ahead, and beyond there was the groan of a
siren from some uncertain ship. Again she paused for footsteps, and
there was nothing but the drip-drip, drip-drip of the fog in the
quickset hedge. On the steep road that ran up towards Crickabella, the
fog lifted from her immediate neighborhood, and she could see the
washed-out sky and silver sun with vapors curling across the strange
luminousness. On either side, thicker by contrast, the mist hung in
curtains dreary and impenetrable. Very soon the transparency in which
she walked was veiled again, and through an annihilation of shape and
col