s a masterpiece
of mischief! His difference with the animal still rankled in a mind that
did not easily forgive.

Half an hour later, he entered the lighted kitchen shaking and
gasping, tears rolling down his furrowed cheeks into the corners of his
gargoyle's mouth, and panted out:

"O, my Gord! Fetch the farmer--fetch an 'urdle! O my Gord! Betty, you
and cook--I can't get 'er off him. She don't speak. I felt her--all
cold. Come on, you sluts--quick! O my Gord! The poor guv'nor! That 'orse
must 'a' galloped into the linhay and killed him. I've see'd the marks
on the devil's shoulder where he rubbed it scrapin' round the wall. Come
on--come on! Fetch an 'urdle or she'll die there on him in the mud. Put
the child to bed and get the doctor, and send a wire to London, to the
major, to come sharp. Oh, blarst you all--keep your 'eads! What's the
good o' howlin' and blubberin'!"

In the whispering corner of those fields, light from a lantern and the
moon fell on the old stone linhay, on the ivy and the broken gate, on
the mud, the golden leaves, and the two quiet bodies clasped together.
Gyp's consciousness had flown; there seemed no difference between them.
And presently, over the rushy grass, a procession moved back in the wind
and the moonlight--two hurdles, two men carrying one, two women and a
man the other, and, behind, old Pettance and the horse.

XI

When Gyp recovered a consciousness, whose flight had been mercifully
renewed with morphia, she was in her bed, and her first drowsy movement
was toward her mate. With eyes still closed, she turned, as she was
wont, and put out her hand to touch him before she dozed off again.
There was no warmth, no substance; through her mind, still away in the
mists of morphia, the thoughts passed vague and lonely: 'Ah, yes, in
London!' And she turned on her back. London! Something--something up
there! She opened her eyes. So the fire had kept in all night! Someone
was in a chair there, or--was she dreaming! And suddenly, without
knowing why, she began breathing hurriedly in little half-sobbing gasps.
The figure moved, turned her face in the firelight. Betty! Gyp closed
her eyes. An icy sweat had broken out all over her. A dream! In a
whisper, she said:

"Betty!"

The muffled answer came.

"Yes, my darlin'."

"What is it?"

No answer; then a half-choked, "Don't 'ee think--don't 'ee think! Your
Daddy'll be here directly, my sweetie!"

Gyp's eyes, wide open, passed from