he radiance had departed, and that
she crept about again like a tired woman. When, after nine o'clock, they
were alone by the fire, again and again it was on the tip of Janet's
tongue to say, "Tell me, who was Dick Tanner?" Then, in a sudden panic
fear, lest the words should slip out, and bring something irreparable,
she would get up, and make a restless pretence of some household work or
other, only to sit down and begin the same inward debate once more. But
she said nothing, and Rachel, too, was silent. She sat over the fire,
apparently half asleep. Neither of them moved to go to bed till nearly
midnight.

Then they kissed each other, and Janet raked out the fire.

"To-morrow!" she said, her eyes on the red glow of the embers,
"_to-morrow_!--Will it be peace?"

And then Rachel remembered that all the civilized world was waiting for
the words that would end the war. Somewhere in a French chateau there was
a group of men conferring, and on the issue of this night depended the
lives of thousands, and the peace of Europe.

Janet raised her clasped hands, and her plain, quiet face shone in the
candle-light. She murmured something. Rachel guessed it was a prayer. But
her own heart seemed dead and dumb. She could not free it from its load
of personal care; she could not feel the patriotic emotion which had
suddenly seized on Janet.

The morning broke grey and misty. The two labourers and the girls went
about their work--raising their heads now and then to listen. And at
eleven came the signal. Out rang the bells from Ipscombe Church tower.
Labourers and girls threw down what they were doing, and gathered in the
farm-yard round Janet and Rachel, who were waving flags on the steps of
the farm-house. Then Rachel gave them all a holiday for the rest of the
day, and very soon there was no one left on the farm premises but the two
women and the bailiff.

"Don't stay, Hastings," said Rachel. "I'll get the horse and cart
myself."

For it was market day at Millsborough, and peace or no peace, she had
some business that must be done there.

"Oh, I've no call to go, Miss," said Hastings. "I'd rather stay and look
after things."

His eyes met Janet's, and she nodded imperceptibly. She was relieved to
think of Hastings--good, faithful, unassuming creature!--remaining on
guard. The very desertion of the farm-houses on this great day might
tempt marauders--especially that thief or madman who had been haunting
their own premises