After a time they began to notice a convergence in these independent ways. It seemed as if only by running apart had they learned at last to run together. A certain friendliness and comradery began to establish itself between them. Reuben began to talk to Naomi about politics and agricultural doings, and gradually her character underwent a strange blossoming. She became far more adult in her opinions; she took interest in matters outside her household and immediate surroundings. He never spoke to her of his plans for Boarzell, for that would have brought them back into the old antagonism and unrest; but when she read the papers to him he would discuss them with her, occasionally interrupt her with comments, and otherwise show that he had to do with an intelligent being. She in her turn would enquire into the progress of the hops or the oats, ask him if his new insect-killer was successful, or whether Ditch had done well with his harvest, or how much Realf's had fetched at the corn-market. Three months passed in this new way. Reuben would never have believed that Naomi could be a companion to him, especially after the last few hostile years. As for her, she looked young and pretty again; delicious slim lines had come into her figure--no longer the slack curves and emaciation of recent months, or the matronly fullness of earlier times. Her health seemed completely restored. Then came a day early in December, when they were walking home together through the mud of Totease Lane, their faces whipped into redness by the south-west wind. Naomi wore a russet cloak and hood, and her hair, on which a few rain-drops glistened, was teasing her eyes. She held Reuben's arm, for the ruts were treacherous, and he noticed the spring and freedom of her walk. A sudden turn of the lane brought them round due west, and between them and the sunset stood Boarzell, its club of firs knobbily outlined against the grape-red sky. It smote itself upon Reuben's eyes almost as a thing forgotten--there, half blotting out the sunset with its blackness. Unconsciously his arm with Naomi's hand on it contracted against his side, while the colour deepened on his cheek-bones. "Naomi." "What is it?" "Boarzell." She lifted her eyes to the shape between her and the sky, and as unconsciously he had flushed so unconsciously she shuddered. "Well, what about it?" she asked in a voice that stuck a little. "It's wunnerful ..." he murmured, "all that great big dark Moor, wot's going to be mine." She did not speak. "Mine!" he repeated almost fiercely. Then suddenly she began to plead: "Can't you let it alone, Reuben?--we--we've been so happy these last months not worrying about it. Must we ever start again?" Her voice came anxiously, timidly like a child's. He dropped her hand from his arm. "Yes--we must," he said shortly.