hurry after the cattle. Mildrid said nothing in answer, but gave her a
glance as though of thanks. The younger girl stood a minute thinking,
and then went off.

Mildrid looked round; yes, she was alone. She hastily put away the
dishes, leaving everything else as it was. Then she washed herself and
changed her dress, took her knitting, and set off up the hill.

She had not the new strength of the new day, for she had hardly slept
or eaten anything for twenty-four hours. She walked in a dream, and
knew nothing clearly till she was at the place where she had sat
yesterday.

Hardly had she seated herself when she thought: "If he were to come
and find me here, he would believe--" She started up mechanically.
There was his dog on the hillside. It stood still and looked at her,
then rushed down to her, wagging its tail. Her heart stopped beating.
There--there he stood, with his gun gleaming in the sun, just as he
had stood yesterday. To-day he had come another way. He smiled to her,
ran down, and stood before her. She had given a little scream and sunk
down on the grass again. It was more than she could do to stand up;
she let her knitting drop, and put her hands up to her face. He did
not say a word. He lay down on the grass in front of her, and looked
up at her, the dog at his side with its eyes fixed on him. She felt
that though she was turning her head away, he could see her hot blush,
her eyes, her whole face. She heard him breathing quickly; she thought
she felt his breath on her hand. She did not want him to speak, and
yet his silence was dreadful. She knew that he must understand why she
was sitting there; and greater shame than this no one had ever felt.
But it was not right of him, either, to have come, and still worse of
him to be lying there.

Then she felt him take one of her hands and hold it tight, then the
other, so that she had to turn a little that way; he drew her gently,
but strongly and firmly towards him with eye and hand, till she was at
his side, her head fallen on his shoulder. She felt him stroke her
hair with one hand, but she dared not look up. Presently she broke
into passionate weeping at the thought of her shameful behaviour.

"Yes, you may cry," said he, "but I will laugh; what has happened to
us two is matter both for laughter and for tears."

His voice shook. And now he bent over her and whispered that the
farther away he went from her yesterday the nearer he seemed to be to
her. The