She opened the parcel. It contained two heavy old-fashioned gold bracelets. Each was set with a large ruby that stared unwinkingly from its setting of pale gold. 'Eh! they'm like drops of blood!' said Hazel. 'Like when fayther starts a-killing the pig. He's a hard un, is fayther, hard as b'rytes. I'm much obleeged to you, Mr. Reddin, but I dunna want 'em. I canna'd abear the sight of blood.' 'Little fool!' said Reddin. 'They're worth pounds.' He caught her wrists and fastened one bracelet on each. She struggled, but could not get free or undo the clasps. She began to cry, loudly and easily, as she always did. All her emotions were sudden, transparent and violent. She also, since her upbringing had not been refined, began to swear. 'Damn your clumsy fists and your bloody bracelets!' she screamed. 'Take 'em off, too! I 'unna stay if you dunna!' Reddin laughed, and in his eyes a glow began; nothing could have so suited his mood. 'You've got to wear 'em,' he said, 'to show you're mine.' 'I binna!' 'Yes.' 'I won't never be!' 'Yes, you will, now.' She raved at him like a little wild-cat, pulling at the bracelets like a kitten at its neck ribbon. He laughed again, stilly. He knew there was not a soul near, for the people from the farm at the foot of the spinney had all gone to church. 'Look here, Hazel,' he said, not unkindly; 'you've got to give in, see?' 'I see nought.' 'You've got to come and live with me at Undern. You can wear those fine dresses.' 'I'm a-cold,' said Hazel; 'the sun's undering; I'd best go home-along.' 'Come on, then. Up you get. We'll be there in no time. You shall have some supper and--' 'What'n I want trapsing to Undern when I live at the Mountain?' 'You'll be asking to come soon,' he said, with the crude wisdom of his kind. 'You like me better than that soft parson even now.' She shook her head. 'I'm a man, anyway.' She looked him over, and owned he was. But she did not want him; she wanted freedom and time to find out how much she liked Edward. 'Well, good neet to you,' she said. 'I'm off.' She ran downhill into the wood. Reddin hitched the reins to a tree and followed. He caught her and flung her into the bracken, and suddenly it seemed to her that the whole world, the woods, herself, were all Reddin. He was her sky, her cloak. The tense silence of the place was heavy on her. Away at God's Little Mountain Edward preached his sermon on the power of prayer--how he could plant a hedge of prayer round the beloved to keep them from all harm. The clock at Alderslea down the valley struck eight in muffled tones. They were burnt into Hazel's brain. The plovers wheeled and cried sadly like the spirits of creatures too greatly outnumbered. Edward was a dream; God's Little Mountain was an old tale--something forgotten, mist-begirt. Twilight thickened, and birds began to shrill in the dew. Voices came up from the farm. They were back from church. Hazel felt crushed, bruised, robbed.