was born of the act of
giving, and her knowledge of George's need was changed into a feeling
that, in its turn, transformed existence. Her mental confusion cleared
itself and, concentrating her powers on him, she tried not to think of
Zebedee. She would not dwell on the little, familiar things she loved in
him, nor would she speculate on his faithfulness or his pain, for his
exile was the one means of George's homecoming. And, though she did not
know it, Zebedee, loving her truly, understood the workings of her mind,
and his double misery lessened to a single one when he saw her growing
more content.

He went to Pinderwell House one fine evening, for there were few days
when he could find time to drive up the long road, and though Mildred
Caniper did not need his care, she looked for his coming every week.

It was a placid evening after a day of heat, and he could see the smoke
from the kitchen chimney going straight and delicately towards the sky.
The moor was one sheet of purple at this season, and it had a look of
fulfilment and of peace. It had brought forth life and had yet to see it
die, and it seemed to lie with its hands folded on its broad breast and
to wait tranquilly for what might come.

Zebedee tried to imitate that tranquillity as the old horse jogged up
the road, but he had not yet arrived at such perfection of control that
his heart did not beat faster as he knocked at Helen's door.

Tonight there was no answer, and having knocked three times he went into
the hall, looked into each room and found all empty. He called her name
and had silence for response. He went through the kitchen to seek her in
the garden, and there, under the poplars, he saw her sitting and looking
at the tree-tops, while George smoked beside her and Jim lay at her
feet.

It was a scene to stamp itself on the mind of a discarded lover, and
while he took the impress he stood stonily in the doorway. He saw
Halkett say a word to Helen, and she sprang up and ran across the lawn.

"I never thought you'd come," she said, breathing quickly.

He moved aside so that her body should not hide him from Halkett's
careful eyes.

"Has something happened?" she asked. "You look so white."

"The day has been very hot."

"Yes; up here, even, and in that dreadful little town--Are you working
hard?"

"I think so."

"And getting rich?"

"Not a bit."

"I don't suppose you charge them half enough," she said, and made him
laugh. "Come and