d had. And I could never think she was a woman
who'd be afraid of walking in the dark. And it seemed natural enough.
Because it has been a day for her, hasn't it?"

He agreed grimly: "Yes, it's been a day," and looked over his shoulder
at the quiet silvern garden, and shivered. "Tell me," he asked, with a
timidity that filled her with fear, since it was the last quality she
had ever expected to colour his tone to her, "what was she like, before
she went out?"

"Oh, verra bright," said Ellen, with conscious acidity. "She was all for
making arrangements for you and me to go up to town with her to-morrow
and see a play, and I don't know all what. And she had the cook in to
tell her about some aluminium saucepans that we're going to buy
to-morrow if we go."

"Oh!" He was manifestly relieved. "Well, I suppose it's all right."

"Yes, it's all right," she told him pettishly; and then tried to make
amends by speaking sympathetically of Marion. "I can understand why your
mother thought it would do her good to go out. If you've lived all your
life in a place I expect every field and tree gets a meaning for you. No
doubt," she went on, unconscious of any feeling but contentment that she
was so successfully taking cognisance of Marion's more pathetic aspect,
"the poor thing's gone for a walk to some place where she can get a bit
of comfort by remembering the time when she was very young. Richard,
Richard, what have I said?"

He looked at her coldly. "Nothing. What could you have said?" But he
went to the window as if he had been told something that had made him
hasten, and opened it and stepped outside. Against the moonlight he was
only a silhouette; but from the hawkishness of the profile he turned to
the west she knew that he was allowing himself to wear again that awful
look of rage which had made her cry aloud. He stepped in again and said:
"I'm sorry, Ellen, but I must go and look for her."

She might have known that she would not have her evening alone with
him. "May I come with you?" she asked through tears.

"No, no, it wouldn't be any fun for you," he answered fussily,
"scrambling about these fields in the dark."

"Let me come with you!" she begged; and guilefully, seeing his brows
knit sullenly, she waved her hand round the room, which she knew must be
to him sombre with the day's events, and cried: "I shall feel afraid,
waiting here."

"Very well. Go and put your things on. But be quick."

He had his hat and