he farm. No doubt the woman down there had
read his thoughts and laughed at him, yes, loving him or not, she must
be laughing at him. He laughed himself, then listened for the chance
sound of her distant voice. He could hear footsteps on the cobbled yard,
the clattering of a pail, the shrill stave of a song uttered by the
maid-servant, but no more; and he paced on until the lights in Brent
Farm went out and his own home was darkened.

In the grey of the morning, he went down the track. Mists were lying on
the moor; above them, trees showed like things afloat, and when he
crossed the road he felt that he was breasting silent floods. Through
his thick boots he could feel the cold of ground soaked by a night of
unexpected rain, and against his gaiters the long grasses rid themselves
of their loads of drops and swung back to their places as he passed. He
turned at the sound of footsteps on the road and saw one of Halkett's
men walking through that semblance of grey water. The man gave a nod of
greeting, John raised a hand, and the peace of the waking day was not
shattered by human speech.

In the corner of the meadow near the house, the cows, looming large and
mysterious and unfamiliar, were waiting with hanging heads, and John
stood and looked at them in a kind of dream before he fetched his pail
and stool and settled down to work. His hands were not steady and the
cow was restless at his touch, and when he spoke to her the sound of his
own voice startled him, for the world was leagued with silence and even
the hissing of the milk into the pail had the extravagance of a cascade.

As he worked, he watched the house. No smoke came from its chimneys, but
at length he heard the opening of a door and Lily Brent appeared. He
thought she was like the morning, fresh and young, with all the promise
and danger of a new day, and while he looked at her his hands dropped
idle. She stood on the step and nodded to him before she walked across
the grass.

"You here alone?" she said, and there was a fine frown on her brow.
"Where's the rest of them? If I don't rout them out myself--"

"Don't," he said. "It's early, and it's Sunday morning. They'll come
soon enough." He stood up and rested his folded arms on the cow's back
and looked at Lily.

"She'll have the pail over," she warned him quickly.

He put it out of danger and returned.

"You haven't fetched my stool," she said.

"I forgot it. Wait a bit. I'll get it soon."

"What'