ht shut, the nostrils working--showed her that
he would be glad when she went away.

Her young exacting temper was piqued. She had been for some time trying
to arrange their lives for them. So, in spite of his dumb resistance,
she lingered on, questioning and suggesting. As to the advertisement she
had brought down, he put it aside almost without looking at it. "There
ud be a hun'erd men after it before ever he could get there," was all he
would say to it. Then she inquired if he had been to ask the steward of
the Maxwell Court estate for work. He did not answer, but Mrs. Hurd said
timidly that she heard tell a new drive was to be made that winter for
the sake of giving employment. But their own men on the estate would
come first, and there were plenty of them out of work.

"Well, but there is the game," persisted Marcella. "Isn't it possible
they might want some extra men now the pheasant shooting has begun. I
might go and inquire of Westall--I know him a little."

The wife made a startled movement, and Hurd raised his misshapen form
with a jerk.

"Thank yer, miss, but I'll not trouble yer. I don't want nothing to do
with Westall."

And taking up a bit of half-burnt wood which lay on the hearth, he threw
it violently back into the grate. Marcella looked from one to the other
with surprise. Mrs. Hurd's expression was one of miserable discomfort,
and she kept twisting her apron in her gnarled hands.

"Yes, I _shall_ tell, Jim!" she broke out. "I shall. I know Miss Boyce
is one as ull understand--"

Hurd turned round and looked at his wife full. But she persisted.

"You see, miss, they don't speak, don't Jim and George Westall. When Jim
was quite a lad he was employed at Mellor, under old Westall, George's
father as was. Jim was 'watcher,' and young George he was assistant.
That was in Mr. Robert's days, you understand, miss--when Master Harold
was alive; and they took a deal o' trouble about the game. An' George
Westall, he was allays leading the others a life--tale-bearing an'
spyin', an' settin' his father against any of 'em as didn't give in to
him. An', oh, he behaved _fearful_ to Jim! Jim ull tell you. Now, Jim,
what's wrong with you--why shouldn't I tell?"

For Hurd had risen, and as he and his wife looked at each other a sort
of mute conversation seemed to pass between them. Then he turned
angrily, and went out of the cottage by the back door into the garden.

The wife sat in some agitation a moment, th