He moved quietly to the gate, and laid a hand on her arm. “Peggy--” he began. She swept his hand away, and turned on him, and Reuben Gaunt, who had seen mainly the softer side of women until now, was awed by the storm that broke about him. She said little; but in her voice, in every movement of her body, there was contempt and loathing. “Get you home!” she cried, pointing across the grey haze of the fields. “Get home to your kennel, Reuben Gaunt. D’ye think I want such as you to come touching me?” “But, lass--” “Ay, and _but, lass_ and _but, lass_--and you want to explain, and explain--fool Reuben, haven’t I learned your tricks and your wheedlesome ways by this time? Little Miss Good Intent is younger to ’em. Come out of your kennel to-morn, and talk to her; _she’ll_ believe ye, maybe.” “We’d best not part in anger,” he stammered. “Hadn’t we? ’Tis the only way we are like to part. I’m waiting for my lad, as I told Miss Priscilla just now. He’ll _explain_ to ye, Reuben Gaunt, if that’s what lies in your mind.” The suggestion of physical cowardice--not true of him at any time--stung Gaunt as much as anything the girl had said or left unsaid. “If that’s so, I’ll wait for him here with you, Peggy,” he said, holding his ground. For a moment she relented. Gaunt was always showing her glimpses of a certain hardihood of courage which she liked to see in man or woman. Then she remembered Cilla, and saw again the look those two had worn as they came down the fields to meet her--came whispering, hand in hand, as if they robbed no woman of her birthright. “Will you go?” she cried. “I’ve done with you, Reuben Gaunt, and you with me, and ’twill be a far day and an ill day that brings me within speaking length of you again.” “As you like,” he said doggedly. “I only wanted to--” “Ay, to explain! Reuben, I’m too old to your tricks.” The tiredness and the scorn of those last words left Gaunt no choice. Without a word, he set a hand on the top bar of the gate, vaulted it, and passed out into the greyness of the night. “He should end that way,” said Peggy, looking after him. “Sometimes he’ll take a three-barred gate too many, all in his easy style, and light on his head the further side.” Tired out with passion, wearied of scorn, she turned to wander up the stream. And she met her lad, and walked with him; and he was known by the name of heart-break to the few who believe in such old-world superstitions.