Not a word was spoken. All were too intent upon the plan they had to accomplish; the beating of their hearts swayed between hope and fear, misgiving and faith. It was too certain that if Mrs. Severn were to be made to return home before her husband, there was not a moment to be lost. Borlase helped Anna to the seat beside him, then whipped on his horse. Elias jogged ahead to open the gate which secured the cattle from straying, and Anna nodded as they passed him. In another moment they disappeared round a corner where one of the park lodges stood, and he retraced his way to the bridge where a lane led up the valley to East Lafer, and thence by the high road to Old Lafer. It would take an hour to reach the Mires even with Borlase's good horse. Beyond the park the road was rough and hilly. At first it was overhung with trees, then the hedges gave way to unmortared walls. The last tree, a sturdy, stunted oak, was left behind. They passed through a gate and struck across a benty pasture where cotton grass shimmered, through another with tufts of heather here and there, and then had reached the moor. The ling was in full blow. It swelled round them for miles, purple melting into amethystine distances that faded under the heat-haze, into the sky-line. Here and there were patches of vivid green bilberry, silvery spagnum, or ash-gray burnt fibre. In the hollows was the dense olive velvet of the rush. Lichened boulders threw lengthening streaks of shadow. Deep gills with streams whose waters now gathered into still pools, then foamed round rocks, cut the hills in every direction. Over all the cloud-shadows sailed, eclipsing the sunshine that again flashed softly forth behind them and steeped the still earth in fragrant heat. And now there was a fresh soft breeze. It seemed to blow from heights above Meupher Fell or Great Whernside, to be a very balm from Heaven. When Borlase mounted the dog-cart after closing the gate Anna took off her hat and the breeze blew over her face and through her hair, giving her a delicious feeling of renewed courage and energy. So far they had scarcely spoken. Now she suddenly felt a lightening of heart, a quenching of the fever of perplexity and grief. Her face cleared. Borlase caught the change as he took the reins again. 'Let us talk,' he said, smiling. 'I fear it will be on a well-worn subject.' 'Mrs. Severn? There might be a better as we know, but that "the nexte thinge" is the one to be faced.' She looked straight ahead. It was so perfectly natural that Clothilde should be discussed with Borlase, not only as an old friend but in his confidential professional character, that she was scarcely conscious of the immense relief of being able to talk of her. But her trouble was far too poignant for her to venture to meet his eyes, though imagining that he only knew the half. 'You remember this happening before?' she said. He nodded, carefully flicking a fly from his horse's ear.