dropping her head; "in some ways she's very fine."

"I should think so."

"Had Paul told you much about her?"

"He had talked a good deal."

"Ha!"

There was silence until he returned with the book.

"When will you want it back?" Miriam asked.

"When you like," he answered.

Clara turned to go indoors, whilst he accompanied Miriam to the gate.

"When will you come up to Willey Farm?" the latter asked.

"I couldn't say," replied Clara.

"Mother asked me to say she'd be pleased to see you any time, if you
cared to come."

"Thank you; I should like to, but I can't say when."

"Oh, very well!" exclaimed Miriam rather bitterly, turning away.

She went down the path with her mouth to the flowers he had given her.

"You're sure you won't come in?" he said.

"No, thanks."

"We are going to chapel."

"Ah, I shall see you, then!" Miriam was very bitter.

"Yes."

They parted. He felt guilty towards her. She was bitter, and she scorned
him. He still belonged to herself, she believed; yet he could have
Clara, take her home, sit with her next his mother in chapel, give her
the same hymn-book he had given herself years before. She heard him
running quickly indoors.

But he did not go straight in. Halting on the plot of grass, he heard
his mother's voice, then Clara's answer:

"What I hate is the bloodhound quality in Miriam."

"Yes," said his mother quickly, "yes; DOESN'T it make you hate her,
now!"

His heart went hot, and he was angry with them for talking about the
girl. What right had they to say that? Something in the speech itself
stung him into a flame of hate against Miriam. Then his own heart
rebelled furiously at Clara's taking the liberty of speaking so about
Miriam. After all, the girl was the better woman of the two, he thought,
if it came to goodness. He went indoors. His mother looked excited. She
was beating with her hand rhythmically on the sofa-arm, as women do who
are wearing out. He could never bear to see the movement. There was a
silence; then he began to talk.

In chapel Miriam saw him find the place in the hymn-book for Clara, in
exactly the same way as he used for herself. And during the sermon he
could see the girl across the chapel, her hat throwing a dark shadow
over her face. What did she think, seeing Clara with him? He did not
stop to consider. He felt himself cruel towards Miriam.

After chapel he went over Pentrich with Clara. It was a dark autumn
night. They had said