ting about, to
treat people who wished to be kind to her as Edmund had treated Lady
Tatham. She was not a mere caterpillar to be trodden on. She would appeal
to the neighbours--she would go home to her parents, etcetera--etcetera.

Melrose at first tried to check her by sarcasm--a banter that stung where
it lit. But when she would not be checked, when she followed him into his
study, wailing and accusing, a whirlwind of rage developed in the man,
and he denounced her with a violence and a brutality which presently
cowed her. She ran shivering upstairs to Anastasia and the baby, bolted
her door, and never reappeared till, twenty-four hours later, she crept
down white and silent, to find a certain comfort in Thyrza's rough
ministrations. Melrose seemed to be, perhaps, a trifle ashamed of his
behaviour; and they patched up a peace over the arrangements for the
heating of the house on which for once he had the grace to consult her.

The winter deepened, and Christmas came. On the mountain-tops the snow
lay deep, and when Netta--who on many days never left the house--after
walking a while up and down the long corridor for the sake of exercise,
would sink languidly on the seat below its large western window, she
looked out upon a confusion of hills near and far, drawn in hard
white upon an inky sky. To the south the Helvellyn range stretched in
bold-flung curves and bosses; in the far distance rose the sharper peaks
of Derwentwater; while close at hand Blencathra with its ravines, and all
the harsh splendour of its white slopes and black precipices, alternately
fascinated and repelled the little Southerner, starved morally and
physically for lack of sun.

Even for Cumbria it was a chill and sunless winter. No bracing frosts,
and persistent northwesterly winds. Day after day the rain, which was
snow on the heights, poured down. Derwentwater and Bassenthwaite rose
till they mingled in one vast lake. The streams thundered from the fells;
every road was a water-course.

Netta lost flesh and appetite. She was a discontented and ailing woman,
and the Dixons could not but notice her fragile state. Mrs. Dixon thought
her "nobbut a silly sort of body," but would sometimes try to cook what
pleased her, or let Anastasia use the kitchen fire for "gnocchi" or
"risotto" or other queer messes; which, however, when they appeared, were
generally more relished by the master than the mistress.

Dixon, perceiving no signs of any desire on Ne