"It isn't. She looks--queer. If she does, I shall run away. I'm going to George. He'll drive into the town. You mustn't sacrifice Notya to Zebedee, you know." Helen let out an ugly, scornful sound that angered Miriam. "Old sheep!" she said, and Helen had to spare a smile, but she was thoughtful. "Perhaps John would go." "But why not George?" "We're always asking favours." "Pooh! He likes them and I don't mind asking." "Well, then, it would be rather a relief. I don't know what to do with her." The sense of responsibility towards George which had once kept Miriam awake had also kept her from him in a great effort of self-denial, and it was many days since she had done more than wave a greeting or give him a few light words. "I believe I've offended you," he had told her not long ago, but she assured him that it was not so. "Then I can't make you out," he muttered. She shut her eyes and showed him her long lashes. "No, I'm a mystery. Think about me, George." And before he had time to utter his genuine, clumsy speech, she ran away. "But I can't avoid temptation much longer," she told herself. "Life's too dull." And now this illness which alarmed her was like a door opening slowly. "And it's the hand of God that left it ajar," she said as she sped across the moor. Her steps slackened as she neared the larch-wood, for she had not ventured into it since the night of old Halkett's death; but it was possible that George would be working in the yard and, tiptoeing down the soft path, she issued on the cobble-stones. George was not there, nor could she hear him, and she was constrained to knock on the closed door, but the face of Mrs. Biggs, who appeared after a stealthy pause, was not encouraging to the visitor. She looked at Miriam and her thin lips parted and joined again without speech. "I want Mr. Halkett," Miriam said, straightening herself and speaking haughtily because she guessed that Mrs. Biggs was suspicious of her friendliness with George. "He's out. You'll have to wait," she said and shut the door. A cold wind was swooping into the hollow, but Miriam was hot with a gathering anger that rushed into words as Halkett appeared. "George!" She ran to him. "I hate that woman. I always did. I wish you wouldn't keep her. Oh, I hate her!" "But you didn't come here to tell me that," he said. In her haste she had allowed him to take her hand and the touch of her softened his resentment at her neglect; amusement narrowed his eyes until she could not see their blue. "She's horrid, she's rude; she left me on the step. I didn't want to go in, but she oughtn't to have left me standing there." "She ought not. I'll tell her." "Dare you?" "Dare I!" he repeated boastfully. "But you mustn't! Don't, George, please don't. Promise you won't. Promise, George." "All right." "Thank you." She drew her hand away. "The fact is, she's always pretty hard on you."