f it all, the freedom and strength! Away to the
West over a lonely farm she could see two buzzard hawks hunting in wide
circles. She did not envy them--so happy was she, as happy as the
morning. And there came to her suddenly the true, the overmastering
longing of mountain tops.

"I must," she thought; "I simply must!"

Slipping off her horse she lay down on her back, and at once everything
was lost except the sky. Over her body, supported above solid earth by
the warm, soft heather, the wind skimmed without sound or touch. Her
spirit became one with that calm unimaginable freedom. Transported beyond
her own contentment, she no longer even knew whether she was joyful.

The horse Hal, attempting to eat her sleeve, aroused her. She mounted
him, and rode down. Near home she took a short cut across a meadow,
through which flowed two thin bright streams, forming a delta full of
lingering 'milkmaids,' mauve marsh orchis, and yellow flags. From end to
end of this long meadow, so varied, so pied with trees and stones, and
flowers, and water, the last of the Spring was passing.

Some ponies, shyly curious of Barbara and her horse, stole up, and stood
at a safe distance, with their noses dubiously stretched out, swishing
their lean tails. And suddenly, far up, following their own music, two
cuckoos flew across, seeking the thorn-trees out on the moor. While she
was watching the arrowy birds, she caught sight of someone coming towards
her from a clump of beech-trees, and suddenly saw that it was Mrs. Noel!

She rode forward, flushing. What dared she say? Could she speak of her
wedding, and betray Miltoun's presence? Could she open her mouth at all
without rousing painful feeling of some sort? Then, impatient of
indecision, she began:

"I'm so glad to see you again. I didn't know you were still down here."

"I only came back to England yesterday, and I'm just here to see to the
packing of my things."

"Oh!" murmured Barbara. "You know what's happening to me, I suppose?"

Mrs. Noel smiled, looked up, and said: "I heard last night. All joy to
you!"

A lump rose in Barbara's throat.

"I'm so glad to have seen you," she murmured once more; "I expect I ought
to be getting on," and with the word "Good-bye," gently echoed, she rode
away.

But her mood of delight was gone; even the horse Hal seemed to tread
unevenly, for all that he was going back to that stable which ever
appeared to him desirable ten minutes