ing the steep hill from Grasmere, on the top of which the cottage
party were now standing, uncertain whether to push on for their walk, or
to retreat homewards before the increasing rain. The person approaching
was Bridget. As she perceived her, Nelly was startled into quick
recollection of Cicely's remark of the morning--'Your sister seems to
have grown much older.' But not only older--_different!_ Nelly could not
have analysed her own impression, but it was so painful that she ran
down to meet her.

'Bridget, it's too far for you to Grasmere!--and coming back up this
awful hill! You look quite done. Do go home and lie down, or will you
come to the cottage for tea first? It's nearer.'

Bridget looked at her coldly.

'Why do you make such a fuss? I'm all right. But I'm not coming to the
cottage, thank you. I've got things to do.'

The implication was that everyone else was idle. Nelly drew back,
rebuffed. And as Bridget reached the group at the top of the hill it was
as though the rain and darkness suddenly deepened. All talk dropped.
Farrell, indeed, greeted her courteously, introduced her to the
Stewarts, and asked her to come back to the cottage for tea. But he was
refused as Nelly had been. Bridget went on her way alone towards the
farm. But after parting from the others she turned back suddenly to
say--'There were no letters for you, Nelly.'

'What a mercy!' said Farrell, as Bridget disappeared. 'Don't you think
so? I never have any forwarded here.'

'Ah, but you get so many,' said Nelly wistfully. 'But still, letters
don't matter to me--now.'

He said nothing, but it roused in him a kind of fierce soreness that she
would always keep the past so clearly before herself and him.

Violent rain came on, and they hurried back to the cottage for shelter.
Cicely was talking extravagantly all the time. She was tired to death,
she said, of everything patriotic. The people who prattled about
nursing, and the people who prattled about the war--especially the
people who talked about women's work--were all equally intolerable. She
meant to give up everything very soon. Somebody must amuse themselves,
or the world would go mad. Farrell threw at her some brotherly jibes;
the old Rector looked scared; and Marsworth said nothing.

* * * * *

There were bright fires in the cottage, and the dripping walkers were
glad to crowd round them; all except Cicely and Marsworth, who seemed to
Nelly's