away from it, Becky. Let's get
away."

Going back they took the road which led across the moor. The clear day
gave to the low hills the Persian carpet coloring which Cope had
despaired of painting. Becky, in her red cape, was almost lost against
the brilliant background.

But she was not the only one who challenged nature. For as she and
Archibald approached the outskirts of the town, they discerned, at some
distance, at the top of a slight eminence, two figures--a man and a
woman. The woman was dancing, with waving arms and flying feet.

"She calls that dance 'Morning on the Moor,'" Cope told Becky; "she has
a lot of them--'The Spirit of the Storm, 'The Wraith of the Fog.'"

"Do you know her?"

"No. But Tristram says she dances every morning. She is getting ready
for an act in one of the big musical shows."

The man sat on the ground and watched the woman dance. Her primrose cape
was across his knee. He was a big man and wore a cap. Becky, surveying
him from afar, saw nothing to command closer scrutiny. Yet had she
known, she might have found him worthy of another look. For the man with
the primrose cape was Dalton!

III

George Dalton, entering the little sitting-room of "The Whistling
Sally," had to bend his head. He was so shining and splendid that he
seemed to fill the empty spaces. It seemed, indeed, to Becky, as if he
were too shining and splendid, as if he bulked too big, like a giant,
top-heavy.

But she was not unmoved. He had been the radiant knight of her girlish
dreams--some of the glamour still remained. Her cheeks were touched with
pink as she greeted him.

He took both of her hands in his. "Oh, you lovely, lovely little thing,"
he said, and stood looking down at her.

They were the words he had said to her in the music-room. They revived
memories. Flushing a deeper pink, she drew away from him. "Why did you
come?"

"I could not stay away."

"How long have you been here?"

"Five days----"

"Please--sit down"--she indicated a chair on the other side of the
hearth. She had seated herself in the Admiral's winged chair. It came up
over her head, and she looked very slight and childish.

George, surveying the room, said, "This is some contrast to
Huntersfield."

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes. I have spent months here, you know, and Sally, who whistles
out there in the yard, is an old friend of mine. I played with her as a
child."

"I should think the Admiral would rather