"Anything that touches me personally is my private concern--and we are talking about the lease of the mill. I cannot make all the improvements you ask for, but perhaps something can be done. When we have studied the matter Mr. Hayes will let you know."

Bell got up and when he went out Osborn turned to Hayes. "What did the fellow mean? He said you knew!"

"It's dangerous ground and I frankly wish he'd told you to ask somebody else. However, there is some gossip--"

"Go on," said Osborn sternly. "Whom are they gossiping about?"

"Miss...o...b..rn, since you insist."

Osborn clenched his fist and the veins rose on his forehead as he said, "And young Askew?"

Hayes made a sign of agreement and Osborn, getting up, walked across the floor. He came back with a savage sparkle in his eyes and stood in front of Hayes.

"Tell me what you know."

With a pretense of reluctance, Hayes obeyed. He told Osborn about Grace's visit to Railton's and hinted that she had gone to find out if Kit had brought the sheep. Then he narrated their meeting in the dark near Creighton's farm and stated his grounds for imagining she had ridden down the hill on the first load of peat. Hayes was tactful and apologetic, but he made it plain that the girl was in Kit's confidence and had known his plans.

Osborn stopped him with a savage gesture. His face was deeply flushed and his voice was hoa.r.s.e as he said: "That is enough. The thing looks impossible! I must try to find out what foundation there is for the ridiculous tale."

"I shall be relieved if you do find it is ridiculous," said Hayes, who went off soon afterwards.

For some minutes...o...b..rn leaned against the mantel with his hands clenched, for he had got a shock. He admitted that the Osborns had some faults, but they were the Tarnside Osborns and had ruled the dale for a very long time. It was something to spring from such a stock, and the wilful girl had disgraced them all. Osborn had suspected Grace of holding dangerous modern views, but it was unthinkably humiliating that she had engaged in a flirtation with a farmer's son.

He had declared the thing impossible, but he feared it was true. Hayes had been very clear about her visit to Railton's, and her coming down Malton Head on Askew's sledge was ominous. She must have been strongly attracted by Kit since she had done a thing like that. Besides, she had obviously sympathized with, and perhaps helped, his plans. This was treachery, because it was a tradition of the Osborns that they stood together.

By and by he heard voices in the hall and braced himself. He must go down to receive his guests and was glad that they had come, since he did not want to tell his wife about the matter yet; in fact, he did not think he would talk to Grace. The thing was humiliating, and there was a possibility that Hayes had been mistaken. Osborn resolved to watch the girl and then insist on a reckoning if she gave him grounds for doing so.

He went down and carried out his hospitable duties. Next morning he arranged for a day's shooting; the snow had nearly gone and there were a few pheasants left in Redmire wood. The party started early, taking their lunch, and in the afternoon Grace left Tarnside and walked down the dale.

She had no particular object, but the day was fine and she wondered whether Kit had brought all the peat from Malton Head.

There was no wind and the frost was not keen. Gray clouds trailed across the sky that was touched with yellow in the west, and soft, elusive lights played about the dale. Patches of snow on the fellsides gleamed and faded; mossy belts glowed vivid green, red berries in the hedgerows shone among withered leaves and fern, and then the light pa.s.sed on and left the valley dim. Something in its calm beauty reacted on the girl and made her thoughtful. She loved the dale and felt that she might be happy there if it were not for her father's poverty and overbearing temperament.

After all, they were not really poor; they had enough to satisfy their needs. Their clinging to out-of-date traditions caused the strain. One gained nothing by pretending to be rich and important; there was no logical reason for trying to live like one's ancestors, and the effort cost the Osborns much. It meant stern private economy, public ostentation, and many small deceits. Grace was getting tired of this pretense; she wanted something simpler and dignified. For the most part, the dalesfolk looked happy and she had come to envy them. They had their troubles, but they were troubles all mankind must bear, and they had joys one did not properly value at Tarnside: human fellowship and sympathy, and freedom to follow their bent. A shepherd's daughter, for example, could marry whom she liked and was not forced to accept a husband who had wealth enough to satisfy her parents.

Grace blushed as she thought of Alan Thorn and contrasted him with Kit.

She did not want to marry yet; but perhaps, if Kit were not a working farmer's son--She pulled herself up, with a smile, for it looked as if she had not broken free from the family traditions. After all, it did not matter if Kit were a farmer's son. He was honest and generous; he had a well-modeled figure, bright eyes, and a clean brown skin. But since Kit was not her lover, she was indulging in idle sentiment; and then she admitted that he might love her, although she did not yet love him.

Indeed, if she must be honest, the thing was possible--she had seen his face brighten and remarked his satisfaction when they met.

Then she stopped abruptly as she saw him coming down the road. There was a path across a field close by, but it would be admitting too much if she tried to avoid him, and she went on. Kit came up, dressed in rough working clothes, with muddy leggings, and a hedge stick in his hand. Two dogs ran before him and it looked as if he had been driving sheep. Grace was very calm when he took off his cap and he thought the hint of stateliness he sometimes noted was rather marked. It did not daunt him; he, felt it was proper Grace should look like that. She noted that he was hot and breathless.

"I saw you as I was bringing the sheep down Burton ghyll," he said.

"Then you must have good eyes," Grace remarked. "It's a long way, and I don't wear conspicuous clothes."

Kit laughed. "I'd have known you much farther off. There's n.o.body in the dale who walks like you."

Grace gave him a quiet glance that he met without embarra.s.sment. She saw that he had not meant to offer her a cheap compliment; yet the compliment was justified. A dancing master had told her that she walked and carried herself well.

"But where are the sheep?" she asked.

"I left them in the field at the beckfoot," he answered with a touch of awkwardness. "We can bring them down afterwards; I remembered I wanted something at Allerby."

Grace turned her head to hide a smile. It was obvious that he had remembered he wanted to go to Allerby when he saw her.

"Oh, well," she said, "I am going part of the way. However, I mustn't stop you if you want to get back to the sheep."

"It isn't at all important," Kit declared. Then he paused and Grace thought he was studying his old and rather muddy clothes. "But, of course," he resumed, "it's possible you'd sooner go on alone."

She laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Askew! I think you know what I mean. I didn't want to keep you from your work."

He looked relieved. "Yes. Although I'm not very clever at this sort of thing, I generally do know what you mean. I can't tell if it's strange or not."

"It certainly is not worth while puzzling about. I expect I'm rather obvious--for that matter, so are you."

"Frankness often saves you some trouble and I don't know if it gives your opponent the advantage some folks imagine. However, it's not our rule in the dale to say all we feel."

"It's not Bell's, for example. How is the coal campaign getting on?"

"Well," said Kit, thoughtfully, "so far as that goes, I believe we have beaten him. There's a new notice that lowers the price seven-and-six altogether, and last night we advised folks to buy. But I don't know if the fight's over. Bell may find another way of putting on the screw."

"I hope he will give it up," Grace replied. "I tried to help, because I felt I must; but of course you see I can't help again."

Kit made a sign of understanding. "Yes; you showed us how to bring the peat down. Now I don't know what to say. It's awkward ground."

They were silent for some time afterwards, for both had said enough and knew that Osborn's resentment must be reckoned on. It made them feel like accomplices and drew them together. They were young and not given to looking far ahead, but they saw the threat that the friendship both valued might be broken off.

By and by three or four reports rang through the calm air and Grace came near to stopping, but did not. She had forgotten Osborn was shooting in Redmire wood and she and Kit must pa.s.s its edge. For all that, she could not turn back. Kit would guess why she did so; it would be an awkward admission that she was afraid of being seen with him by Osborn or his friends. She was afraid, but she was proud, and went on, hoping that Kit had not noted her hesitation. He had not, but was puzzled by her resolute and half-defiant look.

The guns were silent when they came to the wood, which rolled down the hillside below the road. Here and there a white birch trunk and a yellow patch of oak leaves shone among the dark firs; the beech hedge was covered by withered brown foliage. A belt of gra.s.s ran between the wood and road and Grace took the little path along its edge. Her feet made no noise and her tweed dress harmonized with the subdued coloring of dead leaves and trunks. The light was not good and she thought she would not be visible a short distance off; besides the sportsmen might be at the other side of the wood. She hoped they were, since she vaguely perceived that if Osborn saw her it would force a crisis she was not yet ready to meet. Then her thoughts were disturbed, for somebody in the wood shouted: "Mark c.o.c.k flying low to right!"

A gunshot rang out close by and a small brown bird, skimming the top of the hedge, fluttered awkwardly across the road. Next moment dry twigs rustled and a young man leaped on to the gra.s.s with a smoking gun in his hand. As he threw it to his shoulder, Kit ran forward and struck the barrel. There was a flash and while the echoes of the report rolled across the wood a little puff of smoke floated about the men. Grace stood still, trembling, for she knew she had run some risk of being shot.

"Why don't you look before you shoot?" Kit shouted in a strange, hoa.r.s.e voice. "You've no business to use a gun on a public road. It's lucky I was quick."

"That is so; my fault!" gasped the other, who took off his cap as he turned to Grace. "Very sorry, Miss...o...b..rn; didn't see you. Wanted to get the woodc.o.c.k. Hope you're not startled much."

Grace forced a smile. She had physical courage and was shaken rather by what she saw in Kit's face than the risk she had run. Kit looked strangely white and strained. He had obviously got a bad shock, but she thought he would not have looked like that had he saved anybody else from the other's gun.

"My dress is hard to see against the trees. You really needn't be disturbed," she said.

The young man renewed his confused apologies, and when he pushed through the hedge and they went on again Grace looked at Kit. He had not got his color back, his lips were set and his gaze was fixed. The shock had broken his control and brought her enlightenment. He loved her, but she needed time and quietness to grapple with the situation. Her heart beat and her nerves tingled; she could not see the line she ought to take. Yet he must be thanked.

"You were very quick," she said as calmly as possible although she was conscious of a curious pride in him. "Somehow I knew if there was need for quickness you would act like that. I believe I was stupid enough to stand still until you jumped. Well, of course, you know I thank you--"

She stopped, for Kit, who turned his head for a moment turned it back and looked straight in front. He durst not trust himself to speak, and they went on silently.