"How?"

"I dunno; but you _be_ diff'rent. You don't think about girls, for
one thing."

Taffy did not answer. He felt angry, ashamed, uncomfortable. He did
not turn once to look at her face, dimly visible by the light of the
young moon--the hunter's moon--now sinking over the slope of the
hill. Thick dust--too thick for the heavy dew to lay--covered the
cart-track down to the farm, muffling their footsteps. Lizzie paused
by the gate.

"Best go in separate," she said; paused again and whispered, "You may
if you like."

"May do what?"

"What--what young Squire Vyell wanted."

They were face to face now. She held up her lips, and as she did so
they parted in an amorous little laugh. The moonlight was on her
face. Taffy bent swiftly and kissed her.

"Oh, you hurt!" With another little laugh she slipped up the garden
path and into the house.

Ten minutes later Taffy followed, hating himself.

For the next fortnight he avoided her; and then, late one evening she
came again. He was prepared for this, and had locked the door of the
smithy and let down the shutter while, he worked. She tapped upon
the outside of the shutter with her knuckles.

"Let me in!"

"Can't you leave me alone?" he answered pettishly. "I want to work,
and you interrupt."

"I don't want no love-making--I don't indeed. I'll sit quiet as a
mouse. But I'm afeard, out here."

"Nonsense!"

"I'm afeard o' the ghost. There's something comin'--let me in,
co-o!"

Taffy unlocked the door and held it half opened while he listened.

"Yes, there's somebody coming, on horseback. Now, look here--it's no
ghost, and I can't have you about here with people passing.
I--I don't want you here at all; so make haste and slip away home,
that's a good girl."

Lizzie glided like a shadow into the dark lane as the trample of
hoofs drew close, and the rider pulled up beside the door.

"You're working late, I see. Is it too late to make a shoe for
Aide-de-camp here?"

It was Honoria. She dismounted and stood at the doorway, holding her
horse's bridle.

"No," said Taffy: "that is, if you don't mind the waiting."

With his leathern apron he wiped the Dane's anvil for a seat, while
she hitched up Aide-de-camp and stepped into the glow of the
forge-fire.

"The hounds took us three miles beyond Carwithiel: and there, just as
they lost, Aide-de-camp cast his off-hind shoe. I didn't find it out
at first, and now I've had to walk him all the