n on the pale, cold colour in which, like a reluctant bride, it
waited for the night. Then John put away his tools and Miriam began to
stir about the house which was alive with a secret life of stone and
woodwork, of footsteps silenced long ago, and thoughts which refused to
die: then, too, Helen came back from the moor where she had gone for
comfort. Her feet were wet, her hair was for once in disarray, but her
eyes shone with a faith restored. Warring in her always were two
beliefs, one bright with the beauty and serenity which were her idea of
good, the other dark with the necessity of sacrifice and propitiation.
She had not the freedom of her youth, and she saw each good day as a
thing to be accepted humbly and ultimately to be paid for, yet she would
show no sign of fear. She had to go on steadily under the banner of a
tranquil face, and now the moor and the winds that played on it had made
that going easier.

She passed through the darkening garden, glanced at the poplars, which
looked like brooms sweeping away the early stars, and entered the house
by the kitchen door. John and Miriam sat by a leaping fire, but the room
was littered with unwashed dishes and the remains of meals.

"Well," Miriam said in answer to Helen's swift glance and the immediate
upturning of her sleeves, "why should I do it all? Look at her, John,
trying to shame me."

"I'm not. I just can't bear it."

"Have some tea first," John said.

"Let me pile up the plates."

"Have some tea," Miriam echoed, "and I'll make toast; but you shouldn't
have gone away without telling me. I didn't know where you were, and the
house was full of emptiness."

"I found her snivelling about you," John said. "She wanted me to go out
and look for you with a lantern! After a day's work!"

"Things," Miriam murmured, "might have got hold of her."

"I shouldn't have minded moor things. Oh, these stained knives! John,
did she really cry?"

"Nearly, I did."

"Not she!"

"I did, Helen. I thought the dark would come, and you'd be lost perhaps,
out on the moor--O-oh!"

"I think I'd like it--wrapped up in the night."

"But the noises would send you mad. Your eyes are all red. Have you been
crying too?"

"It's the wind. Here's the rain coming. And where's my hair?" She
smoothed it back and took off her muddy shoes before she sat down in the
armchair and looked about her. "Isn't it as if somebody were dead?" she
asked. "There are more shadows."

"I'll turn