h
a dimness of the descending day and the shaken veil of the snow,
almost any chance-met neighbor would have said, in passing, "Good day,
Mr. Strickland!"

The path led into the wood. Trees rose about them, phantoms in the
snowstorm. The snow fell in large flakes, straight, undriven by wind.
Footprints made transient shapes. The snow obliterated them as in the
desert moving sand obliterated. Ian and Alexander, leaving the wood,
took a way that led by field and moor to Littlefarm.

The earth seemed a Solitary, with no child nor lover of hers abroad.
The day declined, the snow fell. Ian and Alexander moved on, hardly
speaking. The outer landscape rolled dimmed, softened, withdrawn. The
inner world moved among its own contours. The day flowed toward
night, as the night would flow toward day.

They came to the foot of the moor that stretched between White Farm
and Littlefarm.

"There is a woman standing by that tree," said Ian.

"Yes. It is Gilian."

They moved toward her. Tall, fair, wide-browed and gray-eyed, she
leaned against the oak stem and seemed to be at home here, too. The
wide falling snow, the mystic light and quietness, were hers for
mantle. As they approached she stirred.

"Good day, Glenfernie!--Good day, Ian Rullock!--Glenfernie, you cannot
go this way! Soldiers are at Littlefarm."

"Did Robin--"

"He got word to me an hour since. They are chance-fallen, the second
time. They will get no news and soon be gone. He trusted me to give
you warning. He says wait for him at the cot that was old Skene's. It
stands empty and folk say that it is haunted and go round about." She
left the tree and took the path with them. "It lies between us and
White Farm. This snow is friendly. It covers marks--it keeps folk
within-doors--nor does it mean to fall too long or too heavily."

They moved together through the falling snow.

It was a mile to old Skene's cot. They walked it almost in
silence--upon Ian's part in silence. The snow fell; it covered their
footprints. All outlines showed vague and looming. The three seemed
three vital points moving in a world dissolving or a world forming.

The empty cot rose before them, the thatch whitened, the door-stone
whitened. Glenfernie pushed the door. It opened; they found a clean,
bare place, twilight now, still, with the falling snow without.

Gilian spoke. "I'll go on now to White Farm. Robin will come. In no
long time you'll be upon the farther road.... Now I will s