rabbit bolted out. Now the man would shout
and turn it. But he did not, and the rabbit scuttled past him and away
to the hedge. She heard a shout from the end of the row, saw a dog
galloping. Too late! Hurrah! And clasping her hands, she looked at the
man. It was Fort! With the queerest feeling--amazement, pleasure, the
thrill of conspiracy, she saw him coming up to her.

"I did want that rabbit to get off," she sighed out; "I've been watching
it. Thank you!"

He looked at her. "My goodness!" was all he said.

Noel's hands flew up to her cheeks. "Yes, I know; is my nose very red?"

"No; you're as lovely as Ruth, if she was lovely."

Swish-swish! The cutter came by; Noel started forward to her place in
the row; but catching her arm, he said: "No, let me do this little bit.
I haven't had a day in the fields since the war began. Talk to me while
I'm binding."

She stood watching him. He made a different, stronger twist from hers,
and took larger sheaves, so that she felt a sort of jealousy.

"I didn't know you knew about this sort of thing."

"Oh, Lord, yes! I had a farm once out West. Nothing like field-work, to
make you feel good. I've been watching you; you bind jolly well."

Noel gave a sigh of pleasure.

"Where have you come from?" she asked.

"Straight from the station. I'm on my holiday." He looked up at her, and
they both fell silent.

Swish-swish! The cutter was coming again. Noel went to the beginning
of her portion of the falling corn, he to the end of it. They worked
towards each other, and met before the cutter was on them a third time.

"Will you come in to supper?"

"I'd love to."

"Then let's go now, please. I don't want to see any more rabbits
killed."

They spoke very little on the way to the bungalow, but she felt his eyes
on her all the time. She left him with George and Gratian who had just
come in, and went up for her bath.

Supper had been laid out in the verandah, and it was nearly dark before
they had finished. In rhyme with the failing of the light Noel became
more and more silent. When they went in, she ran up to her baby. She
did not go down again, but as on the night before her father went
away, stood at her window, leaning out. A dark night, no moon; in the
starlight she could only just see the dim garden, where no goat was
grazing. Now that her first excitement had worn off, this sudden
reappearance of Fort filled her with nervous melancholy: She knew
perfectly well wha