But he had been a fortnight too late. A miserable fortnight! He, who had raved over the countryside, had missed her. Marston, who had simply remained on his mountain, had won her. 'It's damned unfair!' he said, and pathos faded from him in his rage. All the vague thoughts, dark and turgid, of the last two nights took shape slowly. He neither cursed nor brooded any more. He thought keenly as he walked. His face took a more powerful cast--it had never been a weak face at the worst--and he looked a man that it would not be easy to combat. Bitter hatred of Edward possessed him, silent fury against fate, relentless determination to get Hazel whether she would or not. He had a purpose in life now. Vessons was surprised at his quick, authoritative manner. 'Make me some sandwiches early to-morrow,' he said, 'and you'll have to go to the auction. I shan't go myself.' ''Ow can I go now? Who's to do the cheeses?' 'Give 'em to the pigs.' 'Who's to meet the groom from Farnley? Never will I go!' 'If you're so damned impudent, you'll have to leave.' 'Who's to meet the groom?' Vessons spoke with surly, astonished meekness. 'Groom? Groom be hanged! Wire to him.' 'It'll take me the best part of two hour to go and telegrapht. And it cosses money. And dinner at the auction cosses money.' 'Oh!' cried Reddin with intense irritation, 'take this, you fool!' He flung his purse at Vessons. 'Well, well,' thought Vessons, 'I mun yumour 'im. He's fretched along of her marrying the minister. "Long live the minister!" says Andrew.' Chapter 18 Next morning Vessons went off in high feather; Hazel was so safely disposed of. Reddin left at the same time, and all the long May day Undern was deserted, and lay still and silent as if pondering on its loneliness. Reddin did not return until after night-fall. He spent the day in a curious manner for a man of his position, under a yew-tree, riven of trunk, gigantic, black, commanding Edward's house. He leant against the trunk that had seen so many generations, shadowed so many fox-earths, groaned in so many tempests. Above his tent sailed those hill-wanderers, the white clouds of May. They were as fiercely pure, as apparently imperishable, as a great ideal. With lingering majesty they marched across the sky, first over the parsonage, then over Reddin, laying upon each in turn a hyacinth shadow. Reddin watched the house indifferently, while Martha went to and fro cleaning the chapel after the wedding. Then Mrs. Marston came to the front door and shut it. After that, for a long time, nothing moved but the slow shadows of the gravestones, shortening with the climbing sun. The laburnum waved softly, and flung its lacy shadow on the grave where the grass was long and daisied. A wood-pigeon began in its deep and golden voice a low soliloquy recollected as a saint's, rich as a lover's. Reddin stirred disconsolately, trampling the thin leaves and delicate flowers of the sorrel.