the good o' howlin' and blubberin'!"

In the whispering corner of those fields, light from a lantern and the
moon fell on the old stone linhay, on the ivy and the broken gate, on the
mud, the golden leaves, and the two quiet bodies clasped together. Gyp's
consciousness had flown; there seemed no difference between them. And
presently, over the rushy grass, a procession moved back in the wind and
the moonlight--two hurdles, two men carrying one, two women and a man the
other, and, behind, old Pettance and the horse.

XI

When Gyp recovered a consciousness, whose flight had been mercifully
renewed with morphia, she was in her bed, and her first drowsy movement
was toward her mate. With eyes still closed, she turned, as she was
wont, and put out her hand to touch him before she dozed off again.
There was no warmth, no substance; through her mind, still away in the
mists of morphia, the thoughts passed vague and lonely: 'Ah, yes, in
London!' And she turned on her back. London! Something--something up
there! She opened her eyes. So the fire had kept in all night! Someone
was in a chair there, or--was she dreaming! And suddenly, without
knowing why, she began breathing hurriedly in little half-sobbing gasps.
The figure moved, turned her face in the firelight. Betty! Gyp closed
her eyes. An icy sweat had broken out all over her. A dream! In a
whisper, she said:

"Betty!"

The muffled answer came.

"Yes, my darlin'."

"What is it?"

No answer; then a half-choked, "Don't 'ee think--don't 'ee think! Your
Daddy'll be here directly, my sweetie!"

Gyp's eyes, wide open, passed from the firelight and that rocking figure
to the little chink of light that was hardly light as yet, coming in at
one corner of the curtain. She was remembering. Her tongue stole out
and passed over her lips; beneath the bedclothes she folded both her
hands tight across her heart. Then she was not dead with him--not dead!
Not gone back with him into the ground--not--And suddenly there flickered
in her a flame of maniacal hatred. They were keeping her alive! A
writhing smile forced its way up on to her parched lips.

"Betty, I'm so thirsty--so thirsty. Get me a cup of tea."

The stout form heaved itself from the chair and came toward the bed.

"Yes, my lovey, at once. It'll do you good. That's a brave girl."

"Yes."

The moment the door clicked to, Gyp sprang up. Her veins throbbed; her
whole soul was alive with