"I trust I'm not in the way," she said rather coldly, "but the storm is so violent, and the drifts are forming so fast, that I hope you will not mind my sheltering here." Richard was embarrassed. Her fine words disconcerted him. He had often watched Miss Bardon from a respectful distance, but had never spoken to her before. "You're welcome, ma'am," he replied awkwardly, and offered her his chair. She sat down and held her feet to the brazier. He noticed that her shoes were pulped with wet, and the water was pouring off her skirts to the floor. He did not dare speak, and she evidently did not want to. He felt the colour mounting to his face; he knew that he was dirty and unkempt, for he had been hours in the hut--his hands were grimed from the brazier, and he wore an old crumpled slop. She probably despised him. Suddenly he noticed that the wet of her garments was dropping on the lamb. He hastily gathered it up in his arms. "What a dear little creature!" She spoke quite graciously, and Richard felt his spirits revive. "His mother's dead, and I have to be looking after him, surelye." "Poor little thing!" She asked him a few questions about the lambing, then: "You're one of Mr. Backfield's sons, are you not?" "Yes, ma'am. I'm Richard." "I've seen you before--in church, I think. Are you your father's shepherd?" "Yes, ma'am." "Again I hope I am not in your way. I've been over to see the carter's widow at Socknersh--he died two days ago, you know, and she hasn't a penny to go on with. Then when I saw the storm coming I thought I would take a short cut home across the fields; I was caught after all--and here I am!" She smiled suddenly as she finished speaking. It was a sweet smile, rather aloof, but lighting up the whole of her face with a sudden flash of youth and kindness. Richard gazed at her, half fascinated, and mumbled lamely--"you're welcome, ma'am." She suddenly caught sight of his Latin grammar. "That's a strange thing to see in a shepherd's hand." He felt encouraged, for he had wanted her to see the difference between him and an ordinary shepherd, but had been too awkward to show her. "I've had it three months--I can construe a bit of Horace now." "Acquam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem," said Anne. "Onmes eodem cogimen," said Richard, and blushed. There was silence, but not of the former discouraging sort. Richard was even bold enough to break it: "I never knew ladies cud speak Latin." "Some can. I was educated with my brother, you know, and when we construed Horace I was always five or six pages ahead. What made you want to learn Latin?" "I want to git out o' this." "Out of your farm duties, you mean?" "Yes." "But surely your father would let you adopt some other profession if he knew you did not like this one?" Richard shook his head. "He wants justabout all of us--we've got to push on the farm." "Yes--I know he is ambitious, but surely he doesn't want unwilling helpers."