'Yes, my dear, yes. But you fluster me like the Silverton Cheap-jack does; I never _can_ buy the dish he holds up, for I get in such a fluster for fear he'll break it, and then he does. And now you have.' Edward pushed back his chair in desperation. 'For pity's sake!' he said. 'I'm telling you. I never thought Hazel was steadfast, you know.' 'Where _is_ she? Why will you torment me?' 'An old man came. A very untrustworthy old man, I fear. A defiant manner, and that is never pleasant. There he was in the kitchen with Martha! Age is no barrier to wrong, and Martha was very flushed. There was a deal of laughter, too.' 'Mother! If you keep on like this, I shall go mad.' 'Why, Edward, you are all in a fever. There, there! It's more peaceful without her, and I wish Mr. Reddin well of her.' 'Reddin? What Reddin?' 'Mr. Reddin of Undern. Who else?' 'Damn the fellow!' 'Edward! What words you take on your lips! And just think,' she went on sorrowfully, 'that he seemed such a nice man. He liked the gooseberry wine so much, and gave me a "ma'am," which is more than Martha does half her time. Where are you going?' 'To Undern.' 'What for?' 'Hazel.' Mrs. Marston sat bolt upright. 'But, of course, she'll never darken the door again!' 'I shall bring her back to-night, of course.' 'But, my dear! You must divorce her, however unpleasant on account of the papers. Remember, she has been there a week.' 'What of that?' 'But a week, dear!' 'Mother, I did not think to hear the talk of the filthy world from you.' Mrs. Marston quailed a little. There is nothing in the world so pure, so wonderful, so strong, as a young man's love can be--nothing so spiritual, nothing so brave. Mrs. Marston, in her own words, 'shed tears.' 'Don't cry, mother, but help me,' Edward said. 'Be ready for her, love her. She is as pure as a dew-drop. I know it. And I want her more than life.' 'But if she doesn't want you, Edward, what more is to do?' 'To seek and to save,' snapped Edward, and he banged the door and went hatless down the path between the heavy-browed tombstones. But he came back to suggest that there should be some tea ready. As he went down the batch, owls were shrieking in the woods, and the sky was pied with grey and crimson, like bloodstained marble. The cries of the owls were hard as marble also, and of a polished ferocity. They would have their prey. He walked fast through the lonely fields where Hazel had passed on her mushrooming morning. The roses that had then been in the bud were falling. At Alderslea people stared at him as he went by, flushed and hatless. From Alderslea to Wolf batch was some miles; from there to Undern the way lay over Bitterly Hill, where he missed the path. So it was quite dark when he came past Undern Pool, lying black and ghastly in its ring of skeleton trees. The foxhound set up a loud baying within. Only one window was lit. Edward hammered on the knocker, and the sound echoed in the hollow house.