A great wave of feeling, tumultuous, overwhelming, surged through her and she could say no more. Arthur was waiting on his horse, motionless as a statue, at the very spot that meant so much to her. Roger was with him with pricked, expectant ears. Oliver gave a chuckle and checked the cob. “Somehow I thought—” he said. “Have I got to pull up?” She did not answer him, for Arthur with an imperious wave of the hand did that for her. He walked his horse forward as Oliver reined into a standstill. “You can ride my animal back,” he said. “I will take Miss Thorold to the station.” “You haven’t too much time,” said Oliver. “Then get down and be quick about it!” said Arthur briefly. To Frances he said nothing, and she attempted no word of greeting, even when he mounted to the seat beside her. A hasty farewell to Oliver, the starting forward of the cob, a cheery bark from Roger scudding in front, and they were rounding the bend of the road and alone. Before them, the drifting clouds parted suddenly like a rent curtain, and a great shaft of light descended. They drove straight into the brightness; but as they reached it the clouds drew together again, and they were once more in gloom. The moor stretched all about them like a wilderness. Arthur spoke at last. “Why are you going?” His voice was quiet; it held no special thrill of interest. She even wondered as she made reply if he were greatly interested. “It is better for me to go,” she said. “I am going to take up work in earnest. I have had some encouragement. Several of my sketches have been bought.” “I have seen the one you gave to my mother,” he said. “It was good of you to part with it.” “I did it for her,” said Frances simply. He nodded. “Nothing could have pleased her more. You say you have found a purchaser for the others. You are hoping to get commissioned work?” “I am hoping,” said Frances. “And if you succeed, that will bring you back?” he said. She hesitated. His tone told her so little. “It might,” she said at length. He drove on for some distance in silence. Then, with a restraint so evident that she could not fail to realize that he was putting strong force upon himself, he said, “I hope you will succeed. I hope you will make your fortune. It’s a difficult world, but there are always some lucky ones. You may be one of them. In any case, whether you are or not, may I give you one word of advice?” “What is it?” she said. He answered her briefly, with a certain recklessness that somehow hurt her. “Forget you ever met me! It’s no good—no good! Don’t weight yourself with a burden that can only handicap you! If it’s your fate, as well as mine, to grind your bread from stones, you’ll need all your strength to do it. People like you and me can’t afford to waste any time over—dreams.” He cut the horse a savage flick over the ears with the last word and they went forward on a downward slant at a startling pace.