She was the first to speak.

"Jim, we can't ride like this for ever. A good thing if we could! I am over the first sharpness. Don't choose your words. We can't ride on like this."

"No, Maud, we can't."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"How did it come about?"

"As such things come about."

"What do you mean?"

"How do such things come about?"

"Does she love you?"

"No."

"What have you said to her? Does she know you care?"

"Yes."

"Ah, as far as that?"

"Since yesterday. Last night I went to end things. Until then not one word had smirched me or you. I went to say good-bye. She was put before me like a drink. And——"

"You were parched?"

The horses stood with drooped heads, muzzle to muzzle. The hours were growing old, and long shadows climbed across the grasses. A wide hat sheltered her from the sun; but he thought she looked tired and worn, and he wondered which lines summer had drawn there and which he had traced. Next he fell to asking himself if sorrow could sharpen eyesight, for he found himself looking past her body upon her good spirit. It would find food for new growth out of this hurt. Two years ago they had knelt together and received an equal gift. What a good housewife she had proved! What a spendthrift he!

"The afternoon is nearly gone, Jim. I made a promise to be back by sunset. I don't know what to say. I must go on feeling for a little while and then I shall be able to think. I don't understand a man's love. He can put it off and on like a cloak. He wears a woman's livery for a season to find it shabby after that time and himself in need of a newer one. You have worn mine through two seasons and no doubt I should be duly glad."

"Gently."

"I am raw still. Too sick and sorry to stoop about picking up soft words. No, forget what I said. You have made me angry and hurt and scornful, and, if you will have it, jealous; but you have not the art to make me love you any less. Nothing can unteach me what I have learnt through you. You can never make me unhappy as you have made me happy."

"What am I to say?"

"I must be going home."

"Listen to me. Because of what has happened, don't think I'm such a dullard that I don't know the worth of what I had. What ails me! Soon I'll be past caring. I'm at odds with my shadow. I'm too full of ill humours to pull myself on to a horse's back, too sick with things to try a day's work. If you want revenge you can be satisfied."

She saw his face grow keen with sorrow, and last traces of bitterness against him left her. In place arrived a great pity, and a greediness to heal his hurts. She turned away, and thoughtfully with her light fingers began to thread the mane of the big chestnut horse. She laid the hairs this way and that with care, but little she knew of her work. She was thinking with all her might.

She loved this man, and what was love but service? She must serve him now he was in such evil case. What were her wounds but red lips opening in her side that they might speak his wounds and tell them balm was coming. This was the highest hour of their love, when love was to be crowned with understanding. Let her be speedy and not spend all day debating. A poor passenger was fallen sick by the way, and here was she, loaded with her ointments, who had talked much of her skill. What was love but service, and she said she loved this man?

"What are we to do?"

"There is nothing to do."

"Are you going home?"

"I told her I would go back."

"It's time I started home, Jim."

"Maud!"

"Don't look so serious. You are in worse case than I am. I can laugh at myself and I doubt that of you. Before I go, promise me you will still come to Surprise. It's a sleepy place. You won't find things changed there."

"Yes."

"And now you have promised that, will you come to-morrow? A square promise, fair weather or black, a day's work to do or nothing on hand."

"Yes."

"Good-bye, Jim."

"Good-bye, Maud."

The old horse moved away when she gathered up her reins.