“You’ve no call to worry yourself, my lad,” he found himself saying, both his sense of justice and his native politeness forcing him to the speech. “You get off home. If I do send in my notice, you’ll be more than welcome to the job.” He heard Machell begin to speak again as he walked away,--broken but grateful phrases, ending bravely with: “If you’re stopping on, there’ll be nobody better pleased than me ...” followed presently by the sound of the man’s footsteps receding along the path. He turned then, and watched him walk across the gardens, noticing, as he thought, the already-possessive glance which he cast on either hand. At the gate Len stopped and looked back towards the elder man, and even at that distance their glances seemed to meet and mingle as over some prone and coveted body. When finally he had closed the gate and disappeared, there came from Kirkby’s lips a little sound that was like a cry.... It occurred to him presently that Mattie would be waiting for him, as other people had already waited, that day, and he turned mechanically towards the house. He shrank, however, as he remembered the state of the place as he had found it, earlier on, as well as from the fresh transports which Mattie would have in store for him. He felt, as he had felt about Machell’s rough attempts at sympathy, that he could not bear them just now.... Swerving away to the right before he reached his home, he took a path which led him beyond the walls into the healing quiet of empty spaces. The spring evening was very still, so still that, as he stood, he could hear the faint cry of new-born lambs from across the river. All over the land was that cool silver light which is so much more mystic, and at the same time more intimate, than any other. An incredible gentleness had come upon the earth under its touch. Bathed in that heavenly light it became suddenly more human. Beneath it, the brown plough lay warm and rich, while the grassland looked springy and deep, a comfort to eye and foot. The woods to the west showed silver palings between their trunks, while down on the flat the plantations looked like clumps of sepia feathers. In the soft yet clear air everything seemed to draw together, the white-faced farm-houses, the woods, the hills, the gentle, coloured earth ... gathered to hear the happy message with which the whole world seemed to thrill. High on a bough above him a blackbird began to sing, and again there came from Kirkby’s lips that sound that was like a cry....