and she held herself to the bed lest she should be tempted to play the
spy; yet, had she brought herself to open her sister's door, she would
have been shamed and gladdened by the sight of that pretty sleeper lying
athwart her bed in profound unconsciousness.

Miriam, whose heart was still untouched by God or man, could lie and
sleep soundly, though she knew George waited for her on the moor. The
restlessness that had first driven her there had sent her home again,
that, by a timely abstention, she might recover the full taste of
adventure, and that, by the same means, George might learn her worth.
She was a little puzzled by his behaviour, and she began to find
monotony in its decorum. According to his promise, he had taught her to
ride, and while all her faculties were bent on that business, she hardly
noticed him, but with confidence in her own seat and Charlie's
steadiness, there came freedom to look at George, and with it the desire
to rule the expression of his face and the modulations of his voice.

He would not be beguiled. "I'm teaching you to ride," he said, and
though she mocked him he was not stirred to quarrel. She was temporarily
incapable of realizing that while she learnt to ride, he learnt to
honour her, and found safety for himself and her in silence; nor, had
she realized it, would she have welcomed it. What she wanted was the
pleasure of being hunted and seeing the hunter discomfited, and though
she could not get that from him, she had a new joy when Charlie carried
her strongly and safely across the moor; again she knew the feeling of
passing through a void, of sailing on a thunder-cloud without hope of
rescue and careless of it, and she paid a heavy price when she decided
that it would do George good to wait in vain for her. She would not have
him disrespectful, but she desired him ardent; she wished to see that
stubbornly set mouth open to utter longings, and, when she went to bed
after a dull day, she laughed to think of how he waited and stared into
the gloom.

A fortnight passed before she stole out on a misty night and at the
appointed place found him like a grey carved figure on a grey carved
horse. Only his lips moved when she peered at him through the mist. He
said, "This is the fifteenth night. If you'd waited till tomorrow, you
wouldn't have found me here."

"George," she said, with her face close to his knee, "how unkind you are
to me. And, oh, George, do you really think I should h