..."

Henry fled from him, and, scarcely knowing what he was doing, ran across
the fields towards Hamilton's farm. As he went up the "loanie," he
remembered that Sheila had struck him in the face in her rage at his
cowardice, and he stopped and wondered whether he should go on or not.
And while he was waiting in the "loanie," she came out of a field,
driving a cow before her.

2

She did not speak, though he waited for her to say something. The cow
ambled up the "loanie," and Sheila, glancing at him as if she did not
recognise him, passed on, following it.

"Sheila!" he called after her, but she did not answer, nor did she turn
round.

"I want to speak to you," he said, going after her.

"I don't want to speak to you," she replied, without looking at him.

"But you must!..." He thrust himself in front of her, and tried to take
hold of her hands, but she eluded him. She lifted the sally rod she had
in her hand and threatened him with it. "I'll lash your face with this
if you handle me," she said.

"All right," he answered, dropping his hands and waiting for her to beat
his face with the slender branch.

She looked at him for a few moments, and then she threw the sally rod
into the hedge.

"What do you want?" she asked, and the tone of her voice was quieter.

The cow, finding that it was not being followed, cropped the grass in
the hedge and as they stood there, facing each other, they could hear
the soft munch-munch as it tore the grass from the ground.

"What do you want?" Sheila said again.

"I want to speak to you!..."

"Well, speak away!"

But he did not know what to say to her. He thought that perhaps if he
were to explain, she would forgive, but now that the opportunity to
explain was open to him, he did not know what to say.

"Are you turned dummy or what?" she asked, and the cruelty in her voice
was deliberate.

"Sheila," he began, hesitatingly.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry about last night!"

"What's the good of bein' sorry?..."

"I meant to stop it!..."

"I daresay," she said, laughing at him.

"I did. I did, indeed. I can't help feeling nervous. I've always been
like that. I want to do things ... I try to do them ... but something
inside me runs away ... that's what it is, Sheila ... it isn't me that
runs away ... it's something inside me!"

"Bosh," she said.

"It's true, Sheila. My father could tell you that. I always funk things,
not because I want to funk them, but because I can