sense,
she had shirked her duty and failed her husband, but she had long given
way to him and was now beginning to rebel.

Grace afterwards looked back with horror on the disturbed evening and
sleepless night, and the morning brought her no relief. She could not
resign herself to the sacrifice she thought she would be forced to make,
and her mother told her that Osborn had sent a note to Thorn and a man
from London would arrive in the evening. It was plain that Alan must be
persuaded to help Gerald before the other came.

In the afternoon she walked up the dale, without an object, because it
was impossible to stop in the house. After a time she heard a dog bark
and, stopping by an open gate, saw Kit swinging a scythe where an old
thorn hedge threw its shadow on a field of corn. He was cutting a path
for the binder and for a minute or two she stood and watched.

Kit had taken off his jacket and his thin blue shirt harmonized with the
warm yellow of the corn and the color of his sunburnt skin. The thin
material showed the fine modeling of his figure as his body followed the
sweep of the gleaming scythe. The forward stoop and recovery were marked
by a rhythmic grace, and the crackle of the oat-stalks hinted at his
strength. His face was calm and Grace saw his mind dwelt upon his work.
He looked honest, clean, and virile, but she turned her head and
struggled with a poignant sense of loss. She knew now what it would cost
her to let him go.

Then his dog ran up and Kit, putting down his scythe, came to the gate.
He gave her a searching glance, but she was calm again and began to talk
about the harvest. He did not seem to listen, and when she stopped said
abruptly: "You are standing in the sun. Come into the shade; I'll make
you a seat."

She went with him, knowing this was imprudent but unable to resist, and
he threw an oat-stook against the bank and covered it with his coat.
Grace sat down and he studied her thoughtfully.

"I want you to tell me what's the matter," he said.

"How do you know I have anything to tell?"

"Perhaps it's sympathy, instinct, or something like that. Anyhow, I do
know, and you may feel better when you have told me. It's now and then a
relief to talk about one's troubles."

Grace was silent. Her heart beat fast and she longed for his sympathy,
and his nearness gave her a feeling of support; but she could not tell
him all her trouble. He waited with a patience that somehow indicated
underst