ning and closing the fists. Then he
was conscious of something in the storm and the darkness that robbed him
of his craving for personal vengeance. All that belonged to the
primitive man welled up in him. He knew that in the heart of the future
there lurked a reckoning--something, somebody--that would count the
tally at the appointed time. Then he had turned round the gable of the
stable. He saw the ghostly white thing, shadowy in the blackness, lying
prostrate before the door. He stood still, his breath drawn inward.

There was a movement in the white shape. He could discern the blurred
outline of the head of the animal as she raised it up a little. There
was a low moan followed by a great cry. The Herd stood still, terror in
his heart. For he interpreted that cry in all the terrible inarticulate
consciousness of his own being. That cry sounded in his ears like an
appeal to all the generations of wronged dumb things that had ever come
under the lash of the tyranny of men. It was the protest of the brute
creation against humanity, and to the Herd it was a judgment. Then his
eyes caught a murky gleam beside the fallen white shape, and the
physical sense of things jumped back to his mind.

He remembered that in wet weather a pool of water always gathered before
the stable door. He remembered that there was a glimmer of it there when
he had led the white goat into the stable. He remembered how she had
shown fear of it.

He stooped down over the white goat where she lay. Thin wisps of her
hair floated about looking like dim wraiths against the blackness of the
pool. He caught a look of the brown eyes and was aware that the udder
and teats bulged up from the water. He sank down beside her, the water
making a splash as his knees dropped into the place. The animal raised
her head a little and with pain, for the horns seemed to weigh like
lead. But it was an acknowledgment that she was conscious of his
presence; then the head fell back, a gurgle sounding over one of the
ears.

The Herd knew what had happened, and it was all very tragical to his
mind. His wife had come out to the stable for something, and had left
the door open behind her. The white goat, goaded by the growing pain,
had staggered out the door, perhaps feeling some desire for the open
fields in her agony. Then she had seen before the threshold of the door
that which had always been a horror to her--a pool of water. The Herd
could see her tottering and swaying