She thought that was the most wonderful morning of her life. It was the kind of weather she loved best, with a piercing quality of both wind and sun, and everything glowing, swaying, rustling, creaking. She was gloriously alone, and as she followed the stream and forced its passage, jumping from stone to stone, and feeling water oozing through her shoes, her years fell from her. She was childlike in her acceptance of the hour, nor did she look in upon herself and say, "See how like a child I am!" She was enthralled by the gilded water and the little ferns and mosses growing between the stones, and by the sober presence of the hills that stood far off and looked down with friendly faces. It was only when she passed under the brooding silence of a wood that she remembered her womanhood, and remembered it with fear. Among clustered trees she was not the mistress of her fate: there were influences at work on her, malicious eyes peering, hands ready to tease or bind her, and she hurried from them to the open, where there was nothing between her and heaven. It was as she returned across the fields that she saw a man leaving the house. He stood for an instant just outside the door, gave a quick glance up and down the lane, and hurried up the valley. She began to run. The man turned sharply to his left, making for a grassy track that skirted the larch wood. She followed, realizing the sterling value of policemen. He went fast, with long, easy strides, and as she noticed the manner of his walking, she was sure this was no common thief. He was a free man by the look of him, fearing nobody. His head, his back--she crushed down a cry, and as, with her eyes still on that back, she would have swung round to retrace her way, she stumbled against a stone, and it was he who turned. She had not fallen, but her hand was at her throat, her attitude was one of fear, and he ran down the slope. He saw a pale and slightly freckled face under a crown of heavy, burnished hair. He knew the face very well, but it had grown thinner, he perceived, and the photographs did not show the golden freckles, nor the colour of her hair. She was a little breathless, but her lips were tightly closed, and he was acutely aware of the physical control she exercised: there was no sound, the hand at her throat hardly rose or fell. Her eyes, wide at first, narrowed a little, and her lips quivered into a smile. "I thought you were a thief--so I ran." She made as if she would wave him onwards. "I will pretend I haven't seen you." He looked beyond her. "I ought to have gone out by the back."