e of hoofs
behind her, the music of a chinking bridle, the creaking of leather and
the hard breathing of a horse. She did not turn as George drew rein
beside her and said "Good-evening," in his half sulky tones. She had her
hands behind her back and she looked at the sky.

"'Sunset and evening star,'" she said solemnly, "'and one clear call for
me.' Do you know those beautiful words, George?"

He did not answer. She could hear him fidgeting with whip and reins, but
she gazed upward still.

"I'm sorry I can't recite the rest. I have forgotten it, but if you will
promise to read it, I'll lend you a copy. On Sunday evenings you ought
to sit at home and improve your mind."

He gave a laugh like a cough. "I don't care about my mind," he said, and
he touched the horse with his heel so that she had to move aside. He saw
warm anger chase the pious expression from her face.

"Ah!" she cried, "that is the kind of thing you do! You're rough! You
make me hate you! Why!" her voice fell from its height, "that's a new
horse!" Her hands were busy on neck and nose. "I like him. What is he
called?"

Halkett was looking at her with an eagerness through which her words
could hardly pierce. She was wonderful to watch, soft as a kitten, swift
as a bird.

"What do you call him, George?" she said again, and tapped his boot.

"'Charlie'--this one."

She laughed. "You choose dull names. Is he as wicked as Daisy?"

"Nothing like."

"Why did you get him, then?"

"I want him for hard work."

"I believe you're lazy. If you don't walk you'll get fat. You're the
kind of man that does."

"Perhaps, but that's a long way off. Riding is hard work enough and my
father was a fine man up to sixty."

A thin shock of fear ran through her at the remembrance of old Halkett's
ruined shape. "I was always frightened of him," she said in a small
voice, and she looked at George as though she asked for reassurance.
There was a cold grey light on the moor; darkness was not far off and it
held a chill wind in leash.

"Do you wish he wasn't dead?" she whispered.

He lifted his shoulders and pursed his mouth. "No," he said.

"Are you lonely in that house?"

"There's Mrs. Biggs, you know," he said with a sneer.

"Yes, I know," she murmured doubtfully, and drew closer.

"So you don't think she's enough for me?"

"Of course I don't. That's why I'm so kind to you. She couldn't be
listening to us, could she? Everything seems to be listening."

"S