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They both leapt to their feet; and Neil, after a moment's hesitation and a quick glance round the room, went to the door and opened it.

There stood Persephone Spear!

The tall, equivocal girl entered furtively and quietly, closing the door behind her. Her appearance altered everything in a moment. It caused to surge up in both Nell and Sam that curious blind irritation, unique in life, that the invasion of an outsider evokes in the souls of two people who are in the throes of some nervous dispute.

Persephone wore her usual rough ulster-cape and below this a grey jersey and black skirt. On her head was a tight-fitting, dark woolen cap. She was certainly in an agitated mood and in a dogmatic, tyrannical one. She moved uneasily about the little room, disregarding Nell's entreaties to sit down. She went up to the tiny cottage piano which the Marquis of P. had given the Zoylands on their marriage and ran her fingers over its wistful untuned keys. “What's this?” she said, picking up the loose cover of the pamphlet that Nell had burned. “Did Dave leave it?” Then she came and stood in front of them, staring out of the window. “What's it going to do?” she asked, frowning. “It's the worst day we've had since I've been down here. It's a terrible day.” There was a tone in her voice that reduced the weather to a troublesome appendage to human life, to a tiresome dog that was behaving badly. Then she left the window and crossed over to the fire. “Why don't you burn more wood, Nell?” she said. “It gives out much more heat than this wretched coal.” Then again, before Nell had time to reply, she was pulling out a book from Will Zoyland's bookshelf. “Does your William read 'Arabia Deserta'? No! I can see he doesn't. It's not cut.” She turned the pages irritably. “You know what Doughty would, call a little creature like you, Nell, in this Bedouin tent. He'd call you a 'Bint.' That's a good word, isn't it? To describe a sweet little girl like you!” She returned Doughty to the shelf with a violent shove and hurried again to the window. “It looks as if it wanted to rain black rain today. I've never seen anything so miserable—except my life.”

She put into these final words so much bitterness that Nell was startled out of her irritation and out of her own grief.

“What is it, Percy dear? Are things going wrong? Won't you take off your ulster?”

Sam got up and made several clumsy attempts to help the restless intruder out of her cape. When it was off and she stood before them slim and erect in her jersey and skirt she had a warm, youthful-bodied look like a young skater with tingling veins and bright colour, that completely contradicted her pessimism.

“You look awfully well, Percy,” said Nell. “It isn't your health that's wrong, anyway.”

“You're quite out of it, my dear,” returned the other. “I've been feeling dizzy and funny all day. It's this black devilry in the air, I expect, that won't come down. I'd like to tell this day how I detest it!”

Her childish way of talking about the weather had something that was vaguely reassuring both to Nell and Sam. They had both been feeling an element of fatality in the atmosphere outside; and Percy's petulant detachment of herself from the elements and her concentration upon her personal quarrel with life brought back that sense that the world was malleable and that anything was possible which they had both lost.

“You two look as if I'd interrupted a lovers' quarrel!” cried the girl suddenly, with a forced laugh, throwing back her beautiful head.

Persephone herself had had two fierce quarrels that Easter; one with her husband and one with Philip; and her present mood was a furious revolt against all men, combined with a melting tenderness for all women. With a sudden impulse she now went across to Nell's little piano and after aimlessly playing for a few moments plunged into the notes of a wistful song. This after a moment she began to sing as well as to play. Her voice was surprisingly moving as she sang the words:

"Woman's grief for a woman's breast— The winds howl fierce over Dunkery Beacon! The heart beats faint in its sad unrest And the knees weaken.

"Woman's hair for a woman's tying— The waves break wild upon Lulworth Cove! Cover your face and quit your crying And quell your love.

"Woman's womb by Lodmoor water— The frost bites bitter on White Nose head! Best for the child, whether son or daughter, It lay dead.

"Woman's tears for a woman's drying— The long night lingers on Salisbury Plain! Love can't reach you where you'll be lying Nor any pain.

"Woman's bones for a woman's tending— The wet dawn gathers on Wirral Hill! No more saving and no more spending, She lies still.

“Woman's dust for a woman's wonder— The cold sLars shine on the Mendip snows! A grassy mound—but who lies under No man knows.”

The song ended; but its spell was not broken for a couple of long minutes.

“Is that an old song?” Sam asked.

“Not at all! Don't you realise we've got a Wessex poet of our own? Haven't you heard of young Edward Athling of Middlezoy? There's been enough talk going around about him and Lady Rachel to make him famous if his poetry hasn't done it.”

Sam glanced at the clock on the chimney-piece. It was already nearly four. “I'll have to leave them and start walking back,” he said to himself. “I must be at that woman's house by half-past five.”

He rose heavily to his feet. The movement he made roused Nell from the woeful passivity into which she had been thrown by the song.

“You're not going away, Sam?” she cried piteously. “You can't be going away—and you and I not having had hardly a word yet together!”

Persephone rose to her feet, too, at this juncture- She was as tall as Sam as she stood up in front of him; for his slouching form was bent a little forward and his long arms were hanging loosely down, like those of a gorilla.

She placed one of her own arms protectively round Neil's neck, caressing the girl's chin.

“I suppose,” she said slowly, staring defiantly at Sam, “I suppose . . . you've landed her . . . now . . . with a child?”

“I didn't tell her, Sam, I didn't!” protested Nell.

“She doesn't know,” he cried in a harsh, loud voice. “You know you don't know for certain, Nell! It's far too soon. It's only------”

But he finished his sentence by repeating his first words. “It's much too soon to be so sure!”

“You've hurt her feelings abominably anyway,” said Persephone curtly.

“It's always . . . better . . .” ^aid Sam calmly, accepting the girl's resentful stare with an impassive front, “for people who love each other like Nell and me, to settle our difficulties alone.” He paused and there was something approaching a humorous glint in his little eyes. “Perhaps . . . you would not mind - . . going ”. . . into the garden or into the . . . kitchen for a minute or two!"

Persephone jerked herself away and retreated across the room towards the staircase.

“Well, go on, Sam Dekker,” she cried sarcastically. “You've only got a 'bint' to deal with. Go on explaining—without the faintest notion of what Nell's thinking and feeling.” She turned at the staircase foot and flung her final bolt with uncalled-for vehemence. “The fact remains that you found one of the happiest girls in Somerset; and you've made her one of the unhappiest!”

The surly native of Glastonbury, converted into such a singular kind of a saint, with an exercise of self-control that made his jerking lower jaw positively subhuman* answered her quietly.

“Oh, come now, if you think so little of men, aren't you rather exaggerating my importance?”

“Well, I hope you'll never have a child!” She gave a little cynical laugh that yet had a hysterical note in it. “I hope Nell will have seven beautiful girls by Will Zoyland; and not one of them will ever let any man come near them!”

“Percy!” gasped Nell in consternation, but noticing how white Percy looked as she came forward now towards them her tone changed to one of concern. “Percy, you're ill! What's the matter?”

Percy held out her hand to Sam. “I apologise, Sam. Don't take anything I say today seriously. The truth is I've had my own troubles and it's rather upset me. I daresay . . . you are ... all right.”

She sank down on the nearest chair. “Have you any whiskey, Nell?”

Nell made a sign to Sam to get the drink. When he handed her the whiskey his face expressed genuine concern and this Persephone did not miss.

“Oh, Pm all right,” she gasped, choking a little and spilling the 'drink on her grey jersey. Then she handed him the glass and tilting back her chair stretched out her long arms in a gesture of utter weariness, her fingers clenched.

“Damn it! Pm sorry, you two,” she murmured, letting her arms sink down again. She jerked her chair back now into its natural position and covering her mouth with her hand yawned extravagantly. Then she rose to her feet. “I don't know what's the matter with me today,” she said. “No, no, I don't want to sit down, Nell. I've been sitting down too much today. Look here, you two, wouldn't you like to ride into Glastonbury? I'll bring you back here . . . one of you . . . both of you . . . just as you want. But it would be a change to get our tea in town. Come on! I'll treat you! Let's go to the Pilgrims' and have an amusing time.”

Sam indicated his promise to be at Tittie Petherton's that afternoon at half-past five. “Crummie Geard has been looking after the woman today while the nurse takes a holiday,” he explained. “Ever since the Geards have shown an interest in her she's been better. She gets up now and comes down, though of course she can't ever get well, and she still suffers a lot. Mr. Geard can always spirit her pain away; but it's a conjuring-trick and I don't like the man.”

Sam began walking up and down the room, a puzzled frown on his face. The two girls watched him. A quick, feminine glance passed between them; a glance as old as the camel's hair tents of “Arabia Deserta”; a glance that said—“See how these masculine Prophets of the Lord refuse credit to each other!”

“I can't understand it,” Sam went on, mumbling his words as if speaking to himself. “The man talks in an almost jocular fashion of the Blood of Christ. But he does drive Tittie Pether-ton's pain away. IVe seen it! I've seen the woman fall asleep. But there's something evil about him to me. Father doesn't feel like that. Father gave him the Sacrament once. Father rather likes him and is glad for him to visit Tittie. But I'm not so sure! Sometimes I feel as if, when he sends her pain away, he were doing it by the power of the Devil—only,” here Sam smiled a rather boyish smile, “only I don't believe in the Devil!”

The two girls had drifted across to the couch now, and were sitting there side by side, Percy's arm about Nell's waist.

“I could help you with that sick woman just as well as Crum-mie Geard,” was Nell's comment upon his discourse.

“I've promised to take Tittie over to her aunt's, old Mrs. Legge,” Sam said.

“Tliat woman!” cried Percy. She looked at Nell. “Do you know what Mrs. Legge is?”

“Look here, you two,” said Sam disregarding her question, “why don't you two come with me to Mrs. Legge's? It's in the slums, you know, but there'll be tea of some sort.”

“Oh, I don't want to go at all!” Nell faltered. “I'd much sooner be left alone here.”

“I know you would,” said Persephone, “and cry your eyes out too. I know ihat\ But the point is that's the worst thing you could do. I know I can't persuade you; but perhaps if you get it into your head that if you did it would certainly spoil Sam's evening------”

Half an hour later and they were all three speeding towards Glastonbury; Persephone driving her car at a reckless pace; Nell watching Sam's countenance with intense, puzzled scrutiny; and Sam himself anxiously pulling out his watch every minute or two and exclaiming—“I don't want to hurry you . . . but if you could pass-that thing we should be------”

Persephone kept persuading Nell that their accompanying him to Mother Legge's respectable but comprehensive party would make no difiference to the lady who was giving it. “If she expects him and Miss Geard,” she said, “I don't suppose she'll mind our coming.”

Nell was more diffident. “You go with Sam, Percy, and I'll go and see Dave. He's still in the same rooms, isn't he, where you were before? I don't really see how we can invade this woman's place ... so many of us . . . and without a word of invitation.”

Percy burst into a wild fit of laughing when she heard this. They were standing on the cobblestones now outside Mrs. Pether-ton's dilapidated Gothic house; and the tall girl bent herself down over the wooden railings, where John Crow had first broached to Barter the idea of betraying Philip and coming over to Geard. She gave herself up to such a violent laughing-fit in this dingy ramshackle spot of pigsties and puddles, that tears ran down her convulsed cheeks-,

“Well! I'll go into the house now,” said Sam. “Of course she may be too ill to come out. I expect you two had better wait here till I bring her out. I was going to take her round in a taxi; and even now that may be the best. But I'll go in and see.”

He had no sooner disappeared than a taxi drew up beside their car. There was a huddled figure inside this conveyance; but the driver got out, touched his cap and asked them if this was the house where Mr. Dekker was.

“ 'Ad a call to come 'ere straight from St. Michael's Inn, ladies,” he declared with some embarrassment. Then he hurriedly went back to his cab, peered through its closed window for a second, and returned to their side.

“Is he drunk, do you think?” whispered Nell to her companion.

“I be in awkward case, ladies,” the man mumbled. “There be a 'ooman come wi' I, 'gainst all sense. She be wambly in she's poor head. She were in bar wi' I because 'twere holiday, and she likes to bide wi' I on holiday, and have a bite o' summat. But she heard me boss say to I—'Solly Lew/ says me boss, 'here be a order from Vicarage. Tis to pick up Mr. Sam Dekker at Tittie Petherton's and take three o” they out to Mrs. Legge's. to Paradise.' And's soon as this poor crazy Tooman heard the name Mr. Dekker what must the glimsey body do but climb into taxi: and nought that I could do could get she out! And now I be terrible worried what Mr. Dekker will say to I when I tell he there be a crazy 'ooman in taxi/'