of the Midland Railway, and passed
the cattle enclosure that stood out white. Then they ran down sordid
Wilford Road.

She rocked slightly to the tram's motion, and as she leaned against
him, rocked upon him. He was a vigorous, slender man, with exhaustless
energy. His face was rough, with rough-hewn features, like the common
people's; but his eyes under the deep brows were so full of life that
they fascinated her. They seemed to dance, and yet they were still
trembling on the finest balance of laughter. His mouth the same was just
going to spring into a laugh of triumph, yet did not. There was a sharp
suspense about him. She bit her lip moodily. His hand was hard clenched
over hers.

They paid their two halfpennies at the turnstile and crossed the bridge.
The Trent was very full. It swept silent and insidious under the bridge,
travelling in a soft body. There had been a great deal of rain. On the
river levels were flat gleams of flood water. The sky was grey, with
glisten of silver here and there. In Wilford churchyard the dahlias were
sodden with rain--wet black-crimson balls. No one was on the path that
went along the green river meadow, along the elm-tree colonnade.

There was the faintest haze over the silvery-dark water and the green
meadow-bank, and the elm-trees that were spangled with gold. The river
slid by in a body, utterly silent and swift, intertwining among itself
like some subtle, complex creature. Clara walked moodily beside him.

"Why," she asked at length, in rather a jarring tone, "did you leave
Miriam?"

He frowned.

"Because I WANTED to leave her," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to go on with her. And I didn't want to marry."

She was silent for a moment. They picked their way down the muddy path.
Drops of water fell from the elm-trees.

"You didn't want to marry Miriam, or you didn't want to marry at all?"
she asked.

"Both," he answered--"both!"

They had to manoeuvre to get to the stile, because of the pools of
water.

"And what did she say?" Clara asked.

"Miriam? She said I was a baby of four, and that I always HAD battled
her off."

Clara pondered over this for a time.

"But you have really been going with her for some time?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And now you don't want any more of her?"

"No. I know it's no good."

She pondered again.

"Don't you think you've treated her rather badly?" she asked.

"Yes; I ought to have dropped it years back. But it wo