“Can as well talk here, and thank ye. As I was saying, ye puzzle me. A bit like thunder-weather, ye--the wind blows one way and the clouds drive forrard t’ other way. Reuben, _do_ ye think to make a happy wife of Miss Good Intent?” It was characteristic of this upland lass that she bore no malice toward Cilla. Her quarrel was with Reuben here, with her own weakness, with life itself; Priscilla was a harmless and unmeaning bit of flesh to her, counting for little either way, save that she chanced to be the one to come between herself and Gaunt. “I’m going to make her happy--yes. May a man never begin the good life, Peggy?” “Ay,” answered the other quietly. “A _man_ may always--but I cannot see ye doing it, Reuben, somehow.” “I had so much to tell you,” he said, after another silence. “I wanted--” “Oh, I dare say, Reuben. Wanted to patch up the road ye’ve fouled behind ye, afore taking to the smooth road ready-made in front? Eh, but you must be a fool to the marrow, after all! Dress all in your good clothes, if it pleases ye, and put on a Sabbath face for other folk--but, for mercy’s sake, don’t come to Peggy Mathewson after that fashion. Going to lead the good life, are ye? Well, what of me?” There was no soft wind blowing here at Ghyll Farm, as it had blown last night all down Garth Valley. For the second time this morning Gaunt saw the simple, candid picture of himself. “You were crying last night, Peggy. I looked for a softer welcome,” he said, blurting out his thoughts as a child might have done. “Oh, and was I? Who told ye that?” “I fell in with Mrs. Mathewson as I rode up here. Besides, I can see it in your eyes.” “Has she found the sheep?” said Peggy, with desperate pretence to ward off the graver issue. “I found them for her. Say, Peggy, what were you crying for?” Peggy thought of the heart-break that had been her mate last night “Crying for a lad ye’ll never know, Reuben,” she answered. He was quiet for awhile. Then suddenly his eyes caught fire at hers. “Oh, come away to the fields,” he said. “We could aye talk better out o’ doors, Peggy.” An hour later Mrs. Mathewson returned, driving her sheep, and found Gaunt’s horse tethered to the gateway. The house was empty. “I’ll thole a lot,” she muttered, “but I’m no way going to let Reuben Gaunt stable his horse in my paddock while he goes knocking nails in Peggy’s coffin.” She unfastened the cob’s bridle, opened the gate, and sent him up in the moor. But first she took the bit from his mouth, and laid it with the reins upon the ground; for she had no wish to let the beast break his knees through getting the reins across his legs. The horse, glad of his freedom, turned his head once or twice in search of Reuben, then galloped off. And Widow Mathewson, who seldom smiled, laughed grimly as she saw him breast the moor-top, then disappear. “Gaunt has galloped as free in his time,” she thought. “Let him find his horse if he can, and catch it.” CHAPTER XI