Lup was waiting with the boat when Wolf came down to the channel. The tide was gone, now, but where the old man stood the still-shining sand sucked heavily at his boots. The son held the boat while his father climbed in, then pushed off again in silence. They had not spoken unless forced since the moment of fierce contact in Lancaster’s office. It is a very strong Northern trait--perhaps the strongest of all--this absolute refusal to dig up any subject that has once gone deep. In ungenerous natures it takes the form of a dogged sullenness which even Time cannot melt or break, but in the Whinnerahs it was something finer yet even more stubborn, a deadly aloofness, an icy withdrawal. In neither face was there any trace of evil feeling; but in both there was stiff-necked pride, iron resolution, unforgiving decision. Where blood runs thickest and ties hold closest this characteristic is most fiercely marked. They parted at the bank, and Wolf’s tired limbs took him slackly back to the homestead. His wife had tea ready for him, but asked no questions, and he vouchsafed no information. It was typical of him that not until close of day did he manage to say what waited to be said. Lup had gone up to bed. They could hear him walking about the floor of his room. There was scarcely any light in the kitchen, for in farmland they go upstairs early and spare the candle. The room was full of black, shapeless shadows, and in the gray, drear glimmer from the bay the bent figures showed a little grayer, a little more drear. When Lup’s step had ceased for the night, Wolf told what had passed at Pippin Hall. She took it quietly, so quietly that alarm gripped him, and his voice roughened as he stumbled in his own fashion of excuse. “There was a deal o’ talk among the lot o’ them, an’ lile or nowt to show for it when all was said! I had my own word soon on, but after that I held my whisht till things was fixed, and then--_then_ I asked for the Pride. I’d put in for it afore, but he wasn’t for giving it me, wasn’t Mr. Lancaster. Nay, what any man with owt in him would ha’ done the same, after Brack calling the old master out of his name an hour or more! You mustn’t take it amiss, Martha. ’Twas for the old master.” “And what call had the agent to say you nay at the start?” the thin voice asked in the dusk. “Why--why I doubt it was seeing you that put about over the water, yon day as he give us a look-in, if you’ll think on. He would have it you’d be best off marsh-ground altogether. It’s the Pride for me, now, come happen what may, but if you’d likely be better suited with your own folk over Bortun way--say, for a bit of a spell--ay, or for good----” He slurred and stopped, for speech was bitter, and there was a pause, while out on the featureless night the woman’s eyes kept vigil.