But it seemed to Diana as if everything stifled her, and she would have
liked to flee to the hills, like the wild creatures that had their home
there. Her outward demeanour, for all that, was dignified and sweet.
Whatever she felt, she would not give pain.

"You are too good to me," she murmured. "I will be as good as I can,
Basil, to you."

"I know it," said he.

"And I think I had better begin," she presently added more lightly, "by
going down and seeing how Miss Collins and supper are getting on."

"I daresay they will get on to some sort of consummation."

"It will be a better consummation, if you let me go."

Perhaps he divined something of her feeling, for he made no objection,
and Diana escaped; with a sense that her only refuge was in action. To
do something, no matter what, and stop thinking. Yet, when she went
down-stairs, she went first to the back room and to the open window, to
see if she could catch the note of the thrush once more. It came to her
like a voice from the other world. He was still singing; somewhere up
amid the cool shades of the hemlocks and oaks on the hill, from out the
dusky twilight of their tops; sending his tremulous trills of triumph
down the hillside, he was undoubtedly having a good time. Diana
listened a minute, and then went to the kitchen. Miss Collins was
standing in front of the fire contemplating it, or the kettle she had
hung over it.

"Where is Mr. Masters' supper?" Diana began.

"Don't you take none?" was the rejoinder.

"I mean, what can we have?"

"You can have all there is. And there ain't nothin' in the house but
what's no 'count. If I'd ha' knowed--honeymoon folks wants sun'thin'
tip-top, been livin' on the fat o' the land, I expect; and now ye're
come home to pork; and that's the hull on't."

"Pork will do," said Diana, "if it is good. Have you no ham?"

"Lots. That's pork, ain't it?"

"Eggs?"

"Yes, there's eggs."

"Potatoes?"

"La, I didn't expect ye'd want potatoes at this time o' day."

Diana informed herself of the places of things, and set herself and
Miss Collins vigorously to work. The handmaid looked on somewhat
ungraciously at the quiet, competent energy of her superior, the smile
on her broad mouth gradually fading.

"Reckon you don't know me," she remarked presently.

"Yes, I do," said Diana; "you are Jemima Collins, that used to live at
the post office. How came you here?"

"Wall, there's nothin' but changes in the world, I expe