“I’m glad you didn’t do that, Jagger!” she broke in hastily. “Once over, when I came to myself, I wondered if you would, and I fret and prayed about it. Oh—if you knew how often I’ve thanked God that I hadn’t _that_, on my conscience! If I’d seen you go wrong—! But we won’t talk about it, only, it isn’t a game to _me_; it’s just a dragging on, with naught but a weary, miserable life stretching away, year in year out, as flat and drab as the moor, till one or both of us drop into our graves.” She repented the words the moment they were uttered, for the expression on Jagger’s face told her how deeply they had sunk; but it was too late. “Nancy, lass! you’re breaking your heart; or I’ve broken it for you!” His voice thrilled with the sorrow and bitterness that struggled to find expression; and he would have put his arms around her with a man’s instinctive eagerness to protect and comfort the woman he loves; but Nancy shrank back, and relieved the strain by changing the tone of her voice and forcing a laugh. Her wit was more subtle than his, which would have mistaken a sedative for a cure. His clumsy efforts would have extended the wound he was wishful to close: she intuitively chose the remedy that would both soothe and heal; yet her love was as strong as his, and her heart ached for the clasp of his arms. “It’s same as a play, isn’t it? We shall be talking about running away together next, same as they do in books; but there’s naught o’ that sort on the Straight Road. Eh, Jagger; you thought I was whining like a baby!” His face was still clouded and she rallied him upon his gloom. “I wondered if you were as grand as you thought you were!” she lied. “It didn’t need as much as a tear to damp all the sparks out of your axe when it ran against a woman’s grindstone! You ought to have known that I should never think the moor drab. Look at it, man!” He raised his eyes, following the direction of her arm as it swept a half circle over the landscape. The light was yellow, for it was towards sunset, and the moor stretched its great length before them like burnished metal—brass and copper. The greens were washed over with gold: there was gold in the russets, gold on the pale straws, and the trailing roads were no longer white but faintly yellow. On the western horizon there was a slight haze, delicately pink; and clouds of a deeper hue slashed the blue of the sky. “Drab!” Nancy laughed mock-mirthfully. “It’s as good as a rainbow, Jagger! I’m like you: when trouble comes I make a game of it: I won’t be beaten! Maybe, somewhere on ahead, life’ll be pink, like that. We’ve got to jog on when it’s stormy and keep smiling!” “You’re a wonder, Nancy!” said Jagger; and the cloud that still lingered over his eyes had itself caught the sunset tints.