They climbed the crackling wood, ghastly with a sound as of feet passing tiptoe into silence--the multitudinous soft noises of a wood, cones falling, twigs snapping, the wind in old driven leaves, the subdued rustle of the trees. They passed the place where she had talked with Edward at the bark-stripping. The prostrate larches shone as whitely as her shoulder did through her torn gown. She remembered Edward's look, and wept again. 'What is it now?' he asked. 'I was i' this place afore the bluebells died, along with--Ed'ard.' 'Why d'you say the man's name like that? It's no better than other names.' She had no reply for that, and they came in silence to the tormented may-tree where the horse was tied, his black mane and smooth back strown with faded, faintly coloured blossom. Reddin lifted her on and swung into the saddle. She leant against him, silent and passive, as with one arm round her he guided the horse down the difficult path. A star shone through the trees, but it was not a friendly star. It was more like a stare than a tear. When the rest of them sprang out like an army at the reveille, they were aloof and cold, and they rode above in an ironic disdain too terrible to be resented. Reddin put the horse to a gallop. He wanted fierce motion to still the compunction that Hazel's quiet crying brought. A sense of immanent grief was on her, grey loneliness and fear of the future. He tried to comfort her. 'Dunna say ought!' she sobbed. 'You canna run the words o'er your tongue comfortable like Ed'ard can!' 'What do you want me to say?' 'I dunno. I want our Foxy.' 'I'll fetch her in the morning.' 'No, you munna. She'm safe at Ed'ard's. Let her bide. I want to be at Ed'ard's, too.' 'Who comes wailing in the black o' night?' said the voice of Vessons as they neared the hall door. 'I thought it was the lady as no gold comforts--her as hollas "Lost! Alost!" in the Undern Coppy.' Chapter 26 Undern was in its June mood. Pinks frothed over the edges of the borders, and white bush-roses flung their arms high over the porch. All was heavily fragrant, close, muffling the senses. The trees brooded; the house brooded; the hill hung above, deeply recollected; the bats went with a lagging flight. It was like one of those spell-bound places built for an hour or an aeon or a moment on the borders of elfdom, full of charms and old wizardry, ready to fall inwards at a word, but invincible to all but that word. The hot scent of the trees and the garden mingled with the smell of manure, pigsties, cooking pig-wash and Vessons' 'Tom Moody' tobacco. It made Hazel feel faint--a strange sensation to her. Vessons stood surveying them as he had done on the bleak night of Hazel's first coming. 'Where,' he said at last, the countless fine lines that covered his upper lip from nostril to mouth deepening--'where's the reverent?' Receiving no reply but a scowl from his master, he led the horse away.