silent trees, and the mysterious clouds gently rounded in their vast shape, and the sharp slant of the meadow.  Far below could be seen the red signal of the railway, and, mapped in points of light on the opposite slope, the streets of Bursley.  To the right the eternal conflagration of the Cauldon Bar furnaces illumined the sky with wavering amber.  And on the keen air came to her from the distance noises, soft but impressive, of immense industrial activities.

She thought she could decipher a figure moving from the field-path across the gloom of the meadow, and as she strained her eyes the figure became an indubitable fact.  Presently she knew that it was Arthur.  ’At last!’ her heart passionately exclaimed, and she was swept and drenched with happiness as a ship by the ocean.  She forgot everything in the tremendous shock of joy.  She felt as though she could have waited no more, and that now she might expire in a bliss intense and fatal, in a sigh of supreme content.  She could not stir nor speak, and he was striding towards the wicket unconscious of her nearness!  She coughed, a delicate feminine cough, and then he turned aside from the direction of the wicket and approached the fence, peering.

‘Is that you?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Across the fence they clasped hands.  And in spite of her great wish not to do so she clutched his hand tightly in her long fingers, and held it for a moment.  And as she felt the returning pressure of his large, powerful, protective grasp, she covered—­but in imagination only—­she covered his face, which she could shadowily see, with brave and abandoned kisses; and she whispered to him, but unheard:  ’Admit that I am made for love.’  She feared, in those beautiful and shameless instants, neither John, nor Ethel and Milly, nor even Rose.  She knew suddenly why men and women leave all—­honour, duty, and affection—­and follow love.  Then her arm dropped, and there was silence.

‘What are you doing here?’ She was unable to speak in an ordinary tone, but she spoke.  Her voice exquisitely trembled, and its vibrations said everything that the words did not say.

‘Why,’ he answered, and his voice too bore strange messages, ’I called at Church Street and Mr. Myatt said you had only been gone a few minutes, and so I came right away.  I guessed I should overtake you.  I don’t know what he would think.’  Arthur laughed nervously.

She smiled at him, satisfied.  And how well she knew that her smiling face, caught by him dimly in the obscurity of the night, troubled him like an enchanting and enigmatic vision!

After they had looked at each other, speechless, for a while, the strong influence of convention forced them again into unnecessary, irrelevant talk.

‘What’s this about you selling this place?’ he inquired in a low, mild tone.

‘Have you heard?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did hear something.’

‘Ah!’ she murmured, wrinkling her forehead in a pretty make-believe of woe—­the question of the sale had ceased to be acute:  ’I just came out here to think about it.’