“When you’ve ’eard the East a-callin’....” She turned to look towards the returning Vereker. Eaden gazed away towards the snowy distances. He was taking his farewell. To-morrow he would be gone back to his chosen isolation, uninfluenced. Tender-hearted lover of brave souls, of Daphne, and who yet would bring so little to his love-making. He stood in his heavy silence, heavy man’s silence of waiting for recognisable things. “Yes, that man knew what he was talking about.” Suddenly his friendly beam and a forward approaching step, a turning away, at the first hint of something he had heard before, from his formal preoccupation, preoccupation with a glimpse of the next break in his unknown southern life. She had nothing more to say. Vereker was at hand who had held them at truce together. But now without Vereker they were at truce, the only kind of truce he could understand. For a moment she was aware, far away in the future, of one of whom he was the forerunner, coming into her life for mortal combat. CHAPTER VIII In spite of her contempt for tobogganing she was going warily, slowing up a little at the bends, a gnome in an extinguishing cowl, Mrs. Harcourt, carelessly carrying her long past and the short future that so strangely she regarded as indefinite, looking forward, making plans for next winter with eager school-girl eyes; carelessly bringing the life she carried about with her down to the valley this afternoon with brusque cameraderie, her day-time manner. Her company added something to the joy of flying through the backward-flowing landscape. But it was shortening the run and fitting it within reduced surroundings—making it show as it showed to her within her larger scale of movement. Here already was the steepest bend of the run, with the patch of black ice across its middle. Mrs. Harcourt had passed it safely and disappeared. It was past and a group of people came into sight midway down the next slope: two figures pushing off and Mrs. Harcourt at the side of the track, dismounted, beating her skirt. She had collided, managed to run into them; a collision and a humiliating smash ... “Fools! Fooling all over v’place. Had to slam into v’side.” “A blessing the fence is broken just here.” “Not their fault I’m not smashed up. I was yellin’ for all I was worth.” “It’s _really_ dangerous when you can’t see what’s ahead. Someone said tobogganing accounts for more accidents than any other sport.” “Don’t wonder, with so many idjuts about. Where’s Daphne?” “Held up, poor little soul. A broken cord, just as they were starting; the maid went in for another.” “Paw kid. She’ll be too late. No good waiting.”