Felix answered, "than is good to see."

"She is not truer than Derek is."

"That may be, but she will suffer from him."

"Women who love must always suffer."

Her cheeks were sunken, shadowy; she looked very tired. When she had
gone to get some sleep, Felix restored the fire and put on a kettle,
meaning to make himself some coffee. Morning had broken, clear and
sparkling after the long rain, and full of scent and song. What glory
equalled this early morning radiance, the dewy wonder of everything!
What hour of the day was such a web of youth and beauty as this, when all
the stars from all the skies had fallen into the grass! A cold nose was
thrust into his hand, and he saw beside him Tod's dog. The animal was
wet, and lightly moved his white-tipped tail; while his dark-yellow eyes
inquired of Felix what he was going to give a dog to eat. Then Felix saw
his brother coming in. Tod's face was wild and absent as a man with all
his thoughts turned on something painful in the distance. His ruffled
hair had lost its brightness; his eyes looked as if driven back into his
head; he was splashed with mud, and wet from head to foot. He walked up
to the hearth without a word.

"Well, old man?" said Felix anxiously.

Tod looked at him, but did not answer.

"Come," said Felix; "tell us!"

"Locked up," said Tod in a voice unlike his own. "I didn't knock them
down."

"Heavens! I should hope not."

"I ought to have."

Felix put his hand within his brother's arm.

"They twisted her arms; one of them pushed her from behind. I can't
understand it. How was it I didn't? I can't understand."

"I can," said Felix. "They were the Law. If they had been mere men
you'd have done it, fast enough."

"I can't understand," Tod repeated. "I've been walking ever since."

Felix stroked his shoulder.

"Go up-stairs, old man. Kirsteen's anxious."

Tod sat down and took his boots off.

"I can't understand," he said once more. Then, without another word, or
even a look at Felix, he went out and up the stairs.

And Felix thought: 'Poor Kirsteen! Ah, well--they're all about as queer,
one as the other! How to get Nedda out of it?'

And, with that question gnawing at him, he went out into the orchard.
The grass was drenching wet, so he descended to the road. Two
wood-pigeons were crooning to each other, truest of all sounds of summer;
there was no wind, and the flies had begun humming. In the air, cleared
of dust, t