The East flamed out at last. Pencilled streaks of cloud high in the dome shone red. An orange light rose up and spread about the horizon, then turned crimson, and the upper edge of the sun’s disk lifted itself over the hill. A swift beam of light shot like an arrow towards him, and the hawthorn bush obeyed with instant shadow: it passed beyond him over the green plain, up the ridge and away. The great orb, quivering with golden flames, looked forth upon the world.
He arose and involuntarily walked a few steps towards it, his heart swelling, the inner voice lifted. The larks sang with all their might, the swallows played high overhead. When he turned, Margaret had risen and came to meet him, blushing, and trying in vain to push back her hair, that had become slightly loosened. The breeze revelled in it.
“Is it not beautiful?” she said, as they shook hands, looking round. He gazed into her eyes till the fringes drooped and hid them: then he kissed her hand. Her cheeks burned; she withdrew it quickly. “We must go,” she said, all confused. He would gladly have prolonged that moment, but went loyally to do her bidding. He had no difficulty with the horses, they had wandered but a short distance; the grey’s lameness had nearly gone off, probably it would quite when he warmed to his work. They were soon mounted; but then came the old question, which way to ride? Margaret could not recognise any of the hills. Geoffrey decided to ride direct east, towards the sun, thinking that if they kept in one direction they must cross a road presently. They started along the ridge with a deep valley on the right hand, and keeping a sharp lookout in the expectation of seeing a shepherd soon, for Margaret was naturally anxious to get into a civilised locality.
“There is a cloud coming towards us,” she said presently.
Another great wave of vapour was sweeping up, and had already hidden the sun. It crept up the slope of the hill on which they rode like a rising tide—the edge clearly marked—and enveloped them. They went slowly, thinking of flint-pits, and not able to see many yards. Presently the breeze opened a gap overhead, and they were between two huge walls of mist. They drew rein, and in a few minutes the dense white vapour insensibly melted and the sun shone. But then as it rolled away and the ridges of the hills appeared the cloud-like mist visibly undulated about their summits, now rising, now falling, like the vast low waves of the ocean after the wind has sunk. Here and there the mist caught and held the sunlight, and seemed lit up from within; then it disappeared, and the bright spot transferred itself to a distant range. A few more minutes and the breeze carried the vapour away, and they rode forward, and after some distance passed through a forest of furze. A rabbit now and then scampered away, and the stonechats flew from bush to bush and repeated their short note. Suddenly, in following the narrow winding opening between the furze, the grey snorted and stopped short. Geoffrey looked and saw a labouring man asleep upon the sward, his head pillowed on a small boulder stone, or sarsen. He called to him, and the man moved and sat up.
“Why!” said Margaret in amazement; “why, it is our shepherd, Jabez!”
“Eez, miss, it be I,” rubbing his eyes; “and main stiff I be.”
“How ever did you come here?”
“Where are we?” said Geoffrey. “What part of the Down is this? Where are Moonlight Firs?”
“Aw, doan’tee caddie me zo, measter.”
“But we want to get home,” said Margaret. “Now tell us quickly.”
“Be you lost too, miss?” The shepherd to save his life could not have answered a question direct.
“You don’t mean that you have been lost, Jabez?”
“I wur last night. I twisted thuck leg.”
“But where are we?”
“Aw, you bean’t very fur from th’ Warren.”
“Only think,” said Margaret, “all the while we were close where I started from. If May had known we were on the hills! We had better go to Mr. Fisher’s. No one will be about, and I can go home later in the day.”
“Show me the way to the Warren,” said Geoffrey. “Why don’t you get up?”
“I tell ee my leg be twisted. I fell in a vlint-pit.”
“Well, point out the road, and I will return and fetch you.”
“Aw, you must go away on your left, toward thuck Folly—a’ be about a mile. It bean’t six chain from he to th’ wagon ruts as goes to Warren. But if you goes up the hill by the nut copse that’ll be sharter. Doan’t forget I. Zend Bill wi’ the cart.”
By following these directions they found Warren House in about half an hour. Margaret’s chief idea in returning there was because at so lonely a place their appearance at that early hour would attract less attention, and because she was hungry and thirsty, and the distance was much less than the ride to Greene Ferne. They could hear the clack of the mill as they approached; at the house, in front the shutters were not yet down, but Margaret, who knew the ways of the place, rode into the courtyard at the back, where was the dairy.
“Good morning, Jenny,” she said. A stout florid woman, who was carrying a bucket of water, looked up, started, and dropped it.
“Lor, miss, how you did froughten I! I be all of a jimmy-swiver,” and she visibly trembled,
