No more was said.  They parted, having come to a point where the rising moon showed their paths lying separate across the moor.  Their lonely homes lay eight miles apart.  Even by daylight one unaccustomed to the moor could hardly have detected the point where the track divided in the smothering heather.  But these two could have found it even in the dark; being hunters both, and children of the moor, born and bred.

Had they known it, even while they talked together, something was happening to upset their plans for the morrow, and for days to come.

The children, as they left the parlour, had been intercepted by Mrs. Tossell with the information that tea was ready for them in the kitchen.

“Wot, another meal?” said Tilda.

Twenty-four hours ago a world that actually provided too much to eat would have been inconceivable by her.  But already the plenty of Inistow was passing from a marvel into a burden.  It seemed to her that the great kitchen fire never rested, as indeed it seldom did.  Even when the house slept, great cauldrons of milk hung simmering over the hot wood ashes.

Tea over, the children started once again for their waterfall; and this time in haste, for the hollow of the coombe lay already in shadow, and soon the yellow evening sunlight would be fading on its upper slopes.  Arthur Miles hungered for one clear view of his Island before nightfall; Tilda was eager to survey the work accomplished that afternoon in the cottage; while ’Dolph scampered ahead and paused anon, quivering with excitement.  Who can say what the dog expected?  Perchance down this miraculous valley another noble stag would come coursing to his death; and next time ’Dolph would know how to behave, and would retrieve his reputation—­to which, by the way, no one had given a thought.  But dogs can be self-conscious as men.

Lo! when they came to the ledge above the fall, Holmness was visible, vignetted in a gap of the lingering fog, and standing so clear against the level sunset that its rocky ledges, tipped here and there with flame, appeared but a mile distant, or only a trifle more.  He caught his breath at sight of it, and pointed.  But Tilda turned aside to the cottage.  This craze of his began to annoy her.

She was yet further annoyed when he joined her there, ten minutes later, and appeared to pay small attention, if he listened at all, to her plans for to-morrow, before the ride to Culvercoombe.  There could be no more nettle-clearing to-day.  Dusk was gathering fast, and in another hour the moon would rise.  So back once more they fared, to find Mrs. Tossell busily laying supper; and close after supper came prayer, and bedtime on the stroke of nine.

An hour later Tilda—­who slept, as a rule, like a top—­awoke from uneasy dreams with a start, and opened her eyes.  A flood of moonlight poured in at the window, and there in the full ray of it stood Arthur Miles, fully dressed.