the dimness because her thoughts were unwholesome
and must be cast forth.

"She only wants to be kept warm! It was sweet of her to try to think of
me, but she couldn't go on thinking. Oh, Jane, Mrs. Samson and I are
just the same. She doesn't mind who puts coals on the fire. I wish she'd
die. I always loved her very much, and she loved me, but now she
doesn't. She's just a--bundle. It's ugly. If I stay here and look at
her, I shall get like her. Oh--she wants me to go and live with Zebedee.
Zebedee! He wouldn't like me to go on like this. The philosophers--but
that old bishop can't make me think that Notya isn't dying. That's what
she's doing, Jane--dying. But no, dying is good and death is splendid.
This is decay." She stood up and shuddered. "I mustn't stay here," she
murmured sensibly.

She called to Jim in a loud voice that attempted cheerfulness and
alarmed her with its noise in the silent house of sorrow and disease.

"The moor, Jim!" she said, and when she had passed through the garden
with the dog leaping round her, she shook her skirts and held up her
palms to get the freshness of the wind on them.

"We'll find water," she said, but she would not go to the stream that
ran into the larch-wood. Today, the taint of evil was about Halkett's
Farm, as that of decay was in Mildred Caniper's room.

"We'll go to the pool where the rushes are, Jim, and wash our hands and
face."

They ran fleetly, and as they went she saw George at a distance on his
horse. He waved his hat, and, before she knew what she was doing, she
answered with a grimace that mocked him viciously and horrified her with
its spontaneity. She cried aloud, and, sinking to the ground, she hid
her dishonoured face.

"No, no," she moaned. She hated that action like an obscenity. Surely
she was tainted, too.

Jim licked her covering hands, and whined when she paid no heed.

"Hateful! hateful!" were the words he heard and tried to understand. He
sat, alert and troubled, while clouds rolled across the sky, and dark
reflections of them made stately progress on the moor. Sheep, absorbed
in feeding, drew near, looked up and darted off with foolish, warning
bleats, but still his mistress kept her face hidden, and did not move
until he barked loudly at the sight of Halkett riding towards them.

"I couldn't keep away," the man said, bending from his saddle.

She rose and leaned against his knee. "George, what do I look like?"

His fervent answer was not