"I believe he's really afraid of us," she added. "I should be." As they entered the hall, they saw Miriam floating down the stairs. One hand on the rail kept time with her descent; her black dress, of airy make, fluffed from stair to stair; the white neck holding her little head was as luminous as the pearls she wanted. She paused on one foot with the other pointed. "Where is he?" she whispered. "Just coming out of the drawing-room," Rupert answered quickly, encouraging her. "Stay like that. Chin a little higher. Yes. You're like Beatrix Esmond coming down the stairs. Excellent!" A touch from Helen silenced him as Mildred Caniper and her brother turned the corner of the passage. They both stood still at the sight of this dark-clad vision which rested immobile for an instant before it smiled brilliantly and finished the flight. "This is Miriam," Mildred Caniper said in hard tones. Miriam cast a quick, wavering glance at her and returned to meet the gaze of Uncle Alfred, who had not taken her hand. At last, seeing it outstretched, he took it limply. "Ah--Miriam," he said, with a queer kind of cough. "She's knocked him all of a heap," Rupert told himself vulgarly as he carried the bag upstairs, and once more he wished he knew what his mother had been like. CHAPTER VI At supper, Uncle Alfred was monosyllabic, and the Canipers, realizing that he was much shyer than themselves, became hospitable. Notya made the droll remarks of which she was sometimes capable, and Miriam showed off without fear of a rebuke. It was a comely party, and Mrs. Samson breathed her heavy pleasure in it as she removed the plates. When the meal was over and Uncle Alfred was smoking placidly in the drawing-room, Helen wandered out to the garden gate. There she found John biting an empty pipe. After their fashion, they kept silence for a time before Helen said, "Would it matter if I went for a walk?" "I was thinking of having one myself." "He won't miss you and me," she said. "May I come with you, or were you going to Brent Farm?" "I'm not going there. Come on." The wind met them lightly as they headed towards the road. The night was very dark, and the ground seemed to lift itself before them and sink again at their approach. "It's like butting into a wave," John said. "I keep shutting my eyes, ready for the shock." "Yes." Helen began to talk as though she were alone. "The moor is always like the sea, when it's green and when it's black. It moves, too, gently. And now the air feels like water, heavy and soft. And yet the wind's far more alive than water. I'd like to have a wind bath every day. Oh, I'm glad we live here." She stumbled, and John caught her by the elbow. "Want a hand?" "No, thank you. It's these slippers." "High heels?" "No, a stone. I wonder if the fires are out. It's so long since last night. We'd better not go far, John." "We'll stop at Halkett's turning."