"Not she. A granite wall sweats more moisture than her eyes fall tears. But you---- The young gentleman, your brother, died like a hero. 'Tis a great and noble thing to be a hero." "How can a word stand for his dear beautiful face and bright eyes and kind voice? Never a maid had such a brother as Noel. Hero! Hero!" She lifted her voice bitterly. "An empty-handed, senseless sound to take the place of a dear brother. Not one pang does it lessen--no, not even in my father's heart, though he says the syllables over and over again, like a parrot. Our hope and our glory gone--that is what his death means." "I can't say nothing--I wish I could. I'd go and die to-morrow if 'twould bring him back," declared John earnestly. "You'll think 'tis easy to tell such things, but God's my Judge, I mean it." "You are not unlike him in a way, John. He had your manner of holding up his neck, and your mouth and your neat ears." "I'm an awful fuzz-poll--like they curly-haired coloured men at the War Prison." She did not answer for a moment, then spoke again of her sorrows. "My heart's an empty nest now--all my plans to live with Noel for ever and love his children are broken down. And I had a secret hope that he"--she stopped, then decided to finish the sentence--"that he might soften my father." "Your father be stern enough, but not to you--sure never to you." He spoke with conviction and Grace did not reply. A black-and-orange humble bee was working in the wild thyme at her feet. It tumbled and laboured from cluster to cluster of the flowers, pulled each tiny purple corolla to itself and dipped into each for the stores there hidden. It droned hither and thither, full of business, and at last, lifting itself heavily, flew away with a cheerful boom of thanksgiving. So near Grace's ear did it go, that she started, and Lee, though grave enough at heart, laughed. "He won't hurt 'e. They bumbles have no spears, I believe--anyway they never use 'em." "I hate Peter Norcot!" she said aloud, suddenly, and with such vehemence that John started and stared. "I hate him--hate--hate--hate him! Hark at the echo. I've told the echo that many a time. And the echo always answers very wisely, 'Hate him!'" "What have you got against him, if I may ax?" "Nothing; and that's everything. He's perfect." "An' do love your very shadow, so they say." "I forgot that. There is reason enough for not liking him." "Then you'll have to hate every man on the Moor. They all love you--even I dare to do it." "Love me?" "Ess fay! Be it uncivil in me to say so, Miss?" "I should think it was, indeed!" "Truth's truth. I can't help it. Never seed nothing like you. I'd go to the end of the world for you. I wish 'twas my happy lot to be your servant." "Would you kill Mr. Norcot for me?" He was silent; then he nodded. "Well, John Lee, I had sooner you loved me than Mr. Norcot should."