Mrs. Tom threw open the door of this and Sabina, pushing the trolly in, uttered an exclamation of pleasure. The litter of agricultural implements, broken harness, bags and boxes, had been cleared away, the grates had been blacked and the panelled wall painted a shadowy grey. Between the two fireplaces stood a large bed, the posts of which were carved with corn, fruit and other emblems of fertility. On it lay a patchwork quilt, the work of Sabina’s grandmother. Drift-wood fires flamed under the white marble mantelpieces and the coverlet shone with the glistening silks of other days. The spacious room with its white-hung bed and its white curtains, smelt of the sea and Sabina turned and smiled at her husband. "’Av you moved your clothes down?" she asked. "Not that I know of." "Well, you better make ’aste an’ do’t." Looking past her into the beautiful room he thought dimly that it was too large. "I shent like it down ’ere," he said and something ancestral moved in him, assuring him that the upper parts of a house, the upper branches, were secure from the marauding enemy, the terror by night. "Never sleeped on the ground-floor." Laying a hand affectionately on his shoulder, the woman looked into his face with a touch of softening and appeal. Surely he would not leave her to sleep there alone? To the man, this light touch was illuminating. "Oh, leave’n go," he muttered. In the bedroom, Gray Rosevear was moving deftly to and fro, unpacking Sabina’s clothes and laying them in the drawers of the tall-boy. The man’s eyes followed her light figure, at first unconsciously, but before long with a strange quickening of emotion. If it had been this girl who was asking him, he would have given up his eyrie with an eager willingness. He did not understand himself. What was Gray to him? His wife’s voice when she spoke again, seemed a whisper from far away. "I can’t go overstairs," she said pleadingly. Byron turned his eyes deliberately from Gray’s wildflower grace to the thick shortened figure in the trolly and his incipient repugnance grew. Sleep with this deformity? He could not bring himself to it. To live in the same house with her would be difficult; at least he would shut her out of his nights. Already he knew instinctively what those nights, moon-silvered, star-set, nights not of bitter brooding but of dreams, would be to him. "I can’t sleep ’ere." Sabina sighed. The people had given her the froth of sweet words but this was reality. "Well, my dear, I can’t ’elp it," she said resignedly. "I can’t do much nowadays." "Ah now, if ’ee’d only reckernize that." The touch of opposition was a spur. "Still there’s a lot as I can do. This trolly now, ’ll ’elp me a lot."