ificant
than the distant thunders of Spain. A beacon or two had been piled on
the hills, by order of the authorities, to pass on the news when it
should come; a few lads had disappeared from the countryside to drill in
Derby marketplace; but except for these things, all was very much as it
had been from the beginning. The expected catastrophe meant little more
to such folk than the coming of the Judgment Day--certain, but
infinitely remote from the grasp of the imagination.

* * * * *

The three were talking of Robin as they came down towards the house for
supper, and, as they turned the corner, he himself was at that moment
dismounting.

He looked surprisingly cool and well-trimmed, considering his ride up
the hot valley. He had taken his journey easily, he said, as he had had
a long day yesterday.

"And I made a round to pay a visit to Mistress Manners," he said. "I
found her a-bed when I got there; and Mrs. Alice says she will not be at
mass to-morrow. She stood too long in the sun yesterday, at the carrying
of the hay; it is no more than that."

"Mistress Manners is a marvel to me," said Garlick, as they went towards
the house. "Neither wife nor nun. And she rules her house like a man;
and she knows if a priest lift his little finger in Derby. She sent me
my whole itinerary for this last circuit of mine; and every point fell
out as she said."

* * * * *

Robin thought that he had seldom had so pleasant a supper as on that
night. The windows of the low hall where he had dined so often as a boy,
were flung wide to catch the scented evening air. The sun was round to
the west and threw long, golden rays, that were all lovely light and no
heat, slantways on the paved floor and the polished tables and the
bright pewter. Down at the lower end sat the servants, brown men, burned
by the sun; lean as panthers, scarcely speaking, ravenous after their
long day in the hayfields; and up here three companions with whom he was
wholly at his ease. The evening was as still as night, except for the
faint peaceful country sounds that came up from the valley below--the
song of a lad riding home; the barking of a dog; the bleat of sheep--all
minute and delicate, as unperceived, yet as effective, as a rich fabric
on which a design is woven. It seemed to him as he listened to the
talk--the brisk, shrewd remarks of Mr. Garlick; the courteous and rather
melancholy answers