past him painfully; she
writhed out of his arms, and whispered: "Look!"

Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly gilded,
the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom of the
moonlit hill. Behind him came her frozen whisper: "The gipsy bogie!"

"Where?"

"There--by the stone--under the trees!"

Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech clump.
Prank of the moonlight! Nothing! In and out of the boulders and thorn
trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he rushed and
stumbled. Absurd! Silly! Then he went back to the apple tree. But she
was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the pigs, the sound of
a gate closing. Instead of her, only this old apple tree! He flung his
arms round the trunk. What a substitute for her soft body; the rough
moss against his face--what a substitute for her soft cheek; only the
scent, as of the woods, a little the same! And above him, and around,
the blossoms, more living, more moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and
breathe.

7

Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered
uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular queen of
English watering places. Having little sense of what he had on, he was
quite unconscious of being remarkable among its inhabitants, and strode
along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty boots, and battered hat, without
observing that people gazed at him rather blankly. He was seeking a
branch of his London bank, and having found one, found also the first
obstacle to his mood. Did he know anyone in Torquay? No. In that case,
if he would wire to his bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him
on receipt of the reply. That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact
world somewhat tarnished the brightness of his visions. But he sent the
telegram.

Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies'
garments, and examined the window with strange sensations. To have to
undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
disturbing. He went in. A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes
and a faintly puzzled forehead. Ashurst stared at her in silence.

"Yes, sir?"

"I want a dress for a young lady."

The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request
struck him with sudden force.

The young woman added hastily:

"What style would you like--something modish?"

"