On one of these evening walks a strange thing happened. They had climbed the hills and had sat for a few minutes on the summit watching the sun go down behind the level ridges that lead inward from the Start. While they were sitting there in silence, Arthur suddenly slipped away over the brim of a little hollow full of bracken on the edge of the wood. A moment later Gabrielle heard him laughing, and walked over quietly to see what he was doing. She saw him crouched, quite unconscious of her presence, among the ferns at the bottom of the hollow. He had caught a baby rabbit, and now he was torturing the small terrified creature, its beady eyes set with fear, just as a cat plays with a mouse. He was watching it intently: letting it escape to the verge of freedom and then catching it and throwing it violently back. For a second it would lie motionless with terror and then make another feeble attempt at escape. She watched this display of animal cruelty with horror, and yet she could not speak, for she wanted to see what he would do next. At last the rabbit refused to keep up the heartless game any longer. It simply lay and trembled. Arthur prodded it with his foot, but it would not move. This appeared to incense him. He took a flying kick at the poor beast and killed it. It lay for a moment twitching, its muzzle covered in blood. A little thing no bigger than a kitten two months old---- Gabrielle ran to him flaming with anger. She picked up the mutilated rabbit and hugged it to her breast. "Why did you do that? You beast, you devil!" she cried. She could have flown at him in her anger. Arthur only laughed. He stood there laughing, staring straight at her with his wide honest eyes. "It's dead. It's all right," he said. Her fingers were all dabbled with the blood of the rabbit that twitched no longer. She could do nothing. She dropped the carcase with a pitiful gesture of despair and burst into bitter tears. She sat sobbing on the edge of the hollow. She could not see him, but presently she heard his voice, curiously shaken with emotion, at her side. "I say, Mrs. Considine," he said. "Don't--please don't--I simply can't stand it." "Oh, get away--leave me alone," she sobbed. "I can't bear you to be near me. It was so little. So happy----" He wouldn't go. He spoke again, and his voice was quite changed--she had never heard a note of feeling in it before. "I can't bear it. You--I can't bear that you should suffer. I swear I won't do a thing like that again--not if it hurts you. On my honour I won't." "Yes, you will. I suppose you can't help it. It's awful. You haven't a soul. You aren't human." His voice choked as he replied. "I swear it--I do really. I could do anything for you, Mrs. Considine. I feel that I could. For God's sake try me!"