I'll hand them over to you now, and we can begin to play on that."

Counting out the money from a loose handful of coins, he pushed it across the table to her.

"Talking of money," he said, "there'll be a sale here in a few weeks, for all the furniture will have to go. There'll be a man up to-morrow to look over the stuff, and you'll have to look out for a new place. I'll give you a splendid character, and you'd better move to a big town. Hadn't you better bring the little nipper up here to Dashpers for the few weeks that are left? It'll save you something."

"I couldn't do it," said Johanna, in a choked voice, throwing down her cards. "You've had enough to bear for me, God knows, and the folks would talk more'n everto have the child in the house here."

"As you please, as you please; the folks don't matter to me though."

"But must I go? Can't I go and be servant to 'ee, wherever the new place is? Can't I?"

"Good Lord, no. I shall get a berth as ship's surgeon, or something of the sort. No more 'practices' for me. And, Johanna, if there's anything your mistress would specially like to keep, just pack it up and send it.

Don't

let the men number it, and don't bother me about it. I'm not bankrupt. There's plenty to pay off every debt, so you're not wronging anybody by it."

They played on in silence after that, till the little heap of money was dwindling from the doctor's side to Johanna's. With scarlet cheeks and trembling lips, that the doctor watched curiously, the woman scooped up her gains. Was she so greedy for gain as all that? he asked himself. It was quite a new phase of her character.

At last he pushed back his chair. "You've cleared me out," he said, filling another tumbler of whisky and soda.

Now pick up your earnings and be off to bed. I'll have my revenge another night. But, my faith, you can play, Johanna."

She left the room, holding the coins pressed together in a heap against her breast. An hour later, after listening intently, she came down again. As she had expected, the doctor lay asleep on the couch, with the lamp just flickering down in its last jumps. Tiptoeing to the couch, she deftly fitted a rug round him, turned out the lamp, and flung open the top of the window.

"He'll have a headache to-morrow, if he gets no air all night," she said to herself. Standing between the window and the couch, and shading the candle in her hand from his face, she looked down on the sleeper, haggard, sallow, with drooping lower jaw and worn face.

"There'll

"I can't bear it," she said under her breath. be nothing to live for then, for Lizabeth will be better without me, come a year or two."

Suddenly from the open window, with the cool rush of air into the hot room with its tired, up-all-night look, there came the chimes from the parish belfry-beautiful, clear, old bells, such as the middle ages knew how to cast. Holding her breath, in fear that he should awake, she listened to the sounds that seemed to tell of the mystery of purity, honest living, and clean ways. Was there nothing in all the world, she asked herself, that could work a sea-change in her and her like, blotting out the memories of the past? Would death itself do it to the body, an eternity of ages to the soul? She had never heard of the water of Lethe, but it was that for which she craved as she watched the doctor's face. For to live honestly now could never make nonexistent that which had been, since present and future both live in the womb of the past. As she wondered, the chimes changed mockingly into "Auld Lang Syne," with a touch of devil's wit.

CHAPTER XXV

LOVE'S WORSHIP

"Iss, Webburn's below right enough, but 'tis a brave step before you'll hit un," said Daniel Leaman, opening the gate for Wilmot. "Maister Roger's down there potting a rabbit or two, for I heard 'en awhile back."

"Maister Roger ?"

"Ay, Farmer Hannaford of Ponsworthy," said Daniel, raising his voice as though addressing a deaf person. Hereabouts a man usually goes by his surname and trade names, as Smith French, Carpenter Cleave, and the like.

"He'll put 'ee in the way of Webburn, if you're set on getting to it." Daniel spoke deprecatingly.

Wilmot laughed, for she was pursuing Roger Hannaford even more than the elusive Webburn. Several days had passed, and as yet he had shown no signs of desiring her further acquaintance; consequently, she was determined to explore the wooded recesses of the Webburn.

"If you're afeard of his gun, just holler to us. I know the womenfolk can't abide a gun. Farmer French's gun lost me my second pair of twins, I mind." A full-quivered man was Daniel. "Give a scritch to un, to let 'en know you're by, that's all. He's a civilized man, is Farmer Hannaford, and wouldn't scare a lady, leastways not for an old rabbit."

Thus encouraged, Wilmot plunged into the stony path that wound along the side of the valley, sometimes dipping low towards the water, and then suddenly rising upwards as if the Webburn had never been in its mind at all.

Deeper and deeper into its heart the trees received her,

till the silence of the winter woodlands was conquered by the roar of the Webburn as she neared the spot where two river valleys meet. The scent of water-weeds grew stronger, for the river being low owing to the dry season, the smell of them was unusually pungent. Then came the sound of some one crashing through the undergrowth.

"Can I get down to the Webburn anywhere?" she asked, wondering if he would remember her.

"It's a rough road, but as you've come so far it's a pity to go back. May I show you the way?"

She saw that he recognized her as he turned to lead the way towards the murmur below them.

"Now," said he at last, "here's a scramble; let me help you."

He held out his hand, and with a quiver she noted the bloodstain on it, doubtless from the rabbits he held in his hand.

The brown peaty water swirled between boulders and foamed in cascades at their feet. She noted the green of the crystal edging that hung from the granite ledge above the pool, living green and always there, yet never formed of the same drops; like the passions that rule mankind. Her companion had disappeared when she turned from the water; in a few seconds he reappeared, carrying a bundle of dead leaves in his arms, which he deposited on a flat boulder, whistling the while to an unseen dog. She saw from his manner that the leaves were intended for her; evidently he was the kind of man who knows how to surround a woman with an atmosphere of comfort. Roger Hannaford could do this with a bundle of dead leaves. She stretched herself gravely on the leaf couch, while he leant on his gun to watch her. Presently she felt a cold nose on her face and eager paws scratched her arm. It was a splendid golden-brown collie, with a huge white ruff. With

S

an eager snuggle the creature stretched himself on the leaves by her side, and, sighing with pleasure, fell asleep. His pointed nails were brown with the mould in which he had been digging.

"Why have you never been to see me?" said Wilmot. The big man was delightful to play upon.

"I didn't think you meant it."

"Here I am in your wild fastnesses, pining with loneliness, and you didn't think I meant it! Besides, I always mean what I say."

Down the wind there came the sound of bells, faint, far-off, yet clear, through the tracery of leafless branchesancient bells, older far than the peal at Challacombe, from the cathedral of the moor, telling of the bygone centuries and the simple lives that had passed. Sunny afternoons when the bee hums in the heather, winter mornings when the snow lies white, child-birth, the passing of the old, the throbbing bliss of marriage peals; it is of these things that the ancient bells speak, of centuries of simple English life.

There was something in this silent man that explained the bells. Suddenly Wilmot lifted her eyes to Roger's. For all their wordlessness the two understood each other better than many who have lived together for years.

"The past to the bells, the future to the violin, don't you think?" she said, clasping her hands round her knees. "The violin dreams of all there is in the golden future for us, when we are still young."

Then with a sudden pang she started up. The bells were for her, since surely her vivid time of life must be

over.

"Look," she said, "the sun is going."

Halfway up the side of the valley the sunlight had flitted, and while the hilltop lay in sunlight, the cold shadow