that stood with their scarlet roofs on the
naked edges of the fields, crept towards the wood as if for cosiness,
the wild country scooping down a valley and up the uncultured hills of
the other side. Only to be there was an exhilaration and a joy to him.
He loved Mrs. Leivers, with her unworldliness and her quaint cynicism;
he loved Mr. Leivers, so warm and young and lovable; he loved Edgar, who
lit up when he came, and the boys and the children and Bill--even the
sow Circe and the Indian game-cock called Tippoo. All this besides
Miriam. He could not give it up.

So he went as often, but he was usually with Edgar. Only all the family,
including the father, joined in charades and games at evening. And
later, Miriam drew them together, and they read Macbeth out of penny
books, taking parts. It was great excitement. Miriam was glad, and Mrs.
Leivers was glad, and Mr. Leivers enjoyed it. Then they all learned
songs together from tonic sol-fa, singing in a circle round the fire.
But now Paul was very rarely alone with Miriam. She waited. When she
and Edgar and he walked home together from chapel or from the literary
society in Bestwood, she knew his talk, so passionate and so unorthodox
nowadays, was for her. She did envy Edgar, however, his cycling with
Paul, his Friday nights, his days working in the fields. For her Friday
nights and her French lessons were gone. She was nearly always alone,
walking, pondering in the wood, reading, studying, dreaming, waiting.
And he wrote to her frequently.

One Sunday evening they attained to their old rare harmony. Edgar had
stayed to Communion--he wondered what it was like--with Mrs. Morel. So
Paul came on alone with Miriam to his home. He was more or less under
her spell again. As usual, they were discussing the sermon. He was
setting now full sail towards Agnosticism, but such a religious
Agnosticism that Miriam did not suffer so badly. They were at the Renan
Vie de Jesus stage. Miriam was the threshing-floor on which he threshed
out all his beliefs. While he trampled his ideas upon her soul, the
truth came out for him. She alone was his threshing-floor. She alone
helped him towards realization. Almost impassive, she submitted to
his argument and expounding. And somehow, because of her, he gradually
realized where he was wrong. And what he realized, she realized. She
felt he could not do without her.

They came to the silent house. He took the key out of the scullery
window, and