She turned from them to the lighted tent. The golden glow was like some bright creature imprisoned. Abel had prorogued an interminable argument with the old man with the elf-locks, and now began thrumming inside the tent. Young men and women converged upon it at the sound of the music, as flies flock to the osier blossom. They went in, as the blessed to Paradise. The canvas began to sway and billow in the wind of the dancing. Hazel felt that life was going on gaily without her--she shut away in the dark. Her feet began to dance. 'I'll go in!' she said defiantly. 'What for not?' But just as she was lifting the flap she heard Reddin's voice at her elbow. 'Hazel, why did you run away?' 'I dunno.' 'Why didn't you tell me your name? Here have I been going hell-for-leather up and down the country.' 'Ah! That's gospel! That's righteous! I seed you.' Reddin was speechless. 'Me and father was in the public, and you came. I thought it was the Black Huntsman.' 'Thanks. Not a pin to choose, I suppose.' 'Not all that.' 'We're wasting time. What's all this about the parson?' 'I told 'ee.' 'But it isn't true. You and the parson!' He laughed. Hazel looked at him with disfavour. 'You're like a hound-dog when you laugh like to that,' she said, 'and I dunna like the hound-dogs.' He stopped laughing. Abel's harp beat upon them, and the soft thudding of feet on the turf, like sheep stamping, had grown in volume as the shyest were gradually drawn into the revelry. A rainstorm, shaped like a pillar, walked slowly along the valley, skirting the base of the hills. It was like a grey god with folded arms and head aloof in the sky. As it drew slowly nearer to the two who stood there like lovers and were not lovers, and as it lashed them across the eyes, it might have been fate. 'Hazel, can't you see I'm in love with you?' 'What for are you?' There was a wailing note in Hazel's voice, and the rain ran down her face like tears. 'There's you and there's Ed'ard Oh, what for are you?' Reddin looked at her in astonishment. A woman not to like a man to be in love with her. It was uncanny. He stood square-set against the darkening sky, his fine massive head slightly bent, looking down at her. 'I never thought,' he said helplessly--'I never thought, when I had come to forty years without the need of women' ('of love,' he corrected himself), 'that I should be like this.' He looked at Hazel accusingly; then he gazed up at the coming night as a lion might at the sound of thunder. 'Be you forty?' Hazel's voice was on the top note of wonder. 'Laws! what an age!' 'It's not really old,' he pleaded, very humbly for him. She laughed. 'The parson, now, I suppose he's young?' His voice was wistful. 'He'm the right age.' Reddin's temper flamed. 'I'll show you if I'm old! I'll show you who makes the best lover, me or a silly lad!' 'Hands off, Mr. Reddin!' But her words went down the lonely wind that had begun to drag at the lighted tent.