"It's like being converted," he told himself, and he followed slowly
across the moor.

CHAPTER XXV

As the girls passed under the trees, Miriam began to cry.

"Helen, if you hadn't come!"

"But I did."

"Yes, yes. To see you there! It was--oh! And then I fainted. What did
you do to him?"

"We needn't talk about it. And don't cry." She was afraid of having to
hate this daring, helpless being who clung to her; yet she could hate no
one who needed her, and she said tenderly, "Don't cry. It's over now."

"Yes. I've lost my handkerchief."

"Here's mine."

"You're not angry with me, are you? How did you know I'd gone?"

"I think the house told me. Oh, here's the moor. How good to get to it
out of that pit. Come quickly. Notya--"

"I can't come faster. Tell me what you said to him. Nothing I said was
any good."

"I managed him."

"And I couldn't. Suppose he catches me again."

"He won't. Can't you understand that he may not want you any more? Let
us get home."

"I'm doing my best. I wish I were a man. A woman can't have fun."

"Fun!"

"Oh, you're so good! I meant it for fun, and now he'll come after me
again. Of course he wants me. He's in love with me."

"There's love and love," Helen said.

"And if you subtract one from the other--I don't know what I'm
saying--there may be nothing left. If George does that little sum in the
morning--"

"I think it's done already."

"I hope so. I'm miserable. I wish the sea would come up and wash me and
make me forget. You're not holding me so lovingly as you did. In the
kitchen you were sweet."

"Is that better? I think the moor is like the sea. It's a great, clean
bath to plunge into. And here's the garden. That's another bath, a
little one, so dark and cold and peaceful. And the poplars. Soon there
will be leaves on them." She stopped with a thin cry. "What has
happened? I left the house in darkness, and look now!" Every window gave
out light that fell in differing patterns on the grass. "Oh! what is
it?" For an instant she thought the whole night's work must be some evil
fancy, this brilliance as well as the sordid horror at the farm, and
then, as Miriam cried, "Is it the house on fire?" the other rushed
across the lawn, leaping the golden patches as though, indeed, they
might have burned her.

Miriam tried to follow, but, weakness overcoming her, she sat down on
the lawn. Half drowsily, she was interested in the windows, for their
brightness pro