（
妖精的独步舞）（
鬼王的毒妾）（
花间高手）（
超极品狂少）（
死亡街机厅）（
九星修魂诀）the farm was less thaundred yards from the wood’ walltrees formed the fourth sidethe ope house facedtangled emotions, syson noted the plum blossom fallingthe profuse, coloured primroses, whichhimself had brought herethey had increased!there were thick tuftsscarlet, and pink, and pale purple primroses under the plu saw somebody glancehim through the kitchen window, heard men’s voices.
the door openedsuddenly: very womanly she had grown!he felt himself going pale.
“you? addy!” she exlaimed, and stood motionless.
“who?” called the farmer’’s low voice low voices, curious and almost jeering, roused the tormented spiritth brilliantlyher,waited.
“myself why not?”said.
the flush burned very deepher cheek and throat.
“we are just finishing dinner,” she said.
“theill stay outside.”he madotionshow thatwould sitthe red earthenware pipkin that stood near the door among the daffodils, and contained the drinking water.
“oh no, e in,” she sai followe the doorway,glanced swiftly over the family,wa farmer, his wife, and the four sons satthe coarsely laid dinner table, the men with arms barethe elbows.
“isorromelunch time,” said syson.
“hello, addy!” said the farmer, assuming the old formaddress, but his tone cold.“how are you?”
andshook hands.
“shall you havit?”invited the young visitor, but taking for granted the offer woulssumed that syson was bee too refinedeaoung manwincedthe imputation.
“have you had any dinner?” asked the daughter.
“no,” replied syson.“itto bebackhalf past one.”
“you calllunch, don’t you?”asked the eldest son, almos had once beenintimate friendthis young man.
“we’ll give addy something when we’ve finished,” said the mother,invalid, deprecating.
“no don’’t wantgive you any trouble,” said syson.
“you could allus livefresh air an’ scenery,” laughed the youngest son, a ladnieen.
syson went round the buildings, and into the orchardthe backthe house, where daffodils all along the hedgerow swung like yellow, ruffled birdsthei loved the place extraordinarily, the hills ranging round, with bear skin woods covering their giant shoulders, and small red farms like brooches clasping their garments; the blue streakwaterthe valley, the barenessthe home pasture, the soundmyriad threaded bird singing, which went mostl his last day,would dreamthis place, whenfelt the sunhis face,saw the small handfulssnow between the winter twigs, orsmelt the ingspring.
hildaher presencefel was twenty nine,he was, but she seemedhim muc felt foolish, almost unreal, besid was swas fingering some shed plum blossoma low bough, she camethe back doorshake the tabl raced from the stackyard, birds rustled fromdark hair was gatheredioil likrownhe was very straight, distanthe she folded the cloth, she looked away over the hills.
presently syson returne had preparedeggs and curd cheese, stewed gooseberries and cream.
“since you will dionight,” she said,have only given yoight lunch.”
“itawfully nice,”said.“you keeealidyllic atmosphere your beltstraw and ivy buds.”
still they hurt each other.
he was uneasy befor brief, sure speech, her distant bearing, were unfamiliadmired again her grey black eyebrows, andeye saw,the beautiful grey and blackher glance, tears antrange light, andthe backall, calm acceptanceherself, and triumph over him.
he felt himseleffortkeptthe ironic manner.
she sent him into the parlour while she washedlong low room was refurnished from the abbey sale, with chairs upholsteredclaret coloured rep, many years old, andoval tablepolished walnut, and another piano, handsome, though stil spitethe strangeness,wigh cupboard let into the thicknessthe wall,foundfullhis books, his old lesson books, and volumesversehad sent her, englishdaffodilsthe white window bottoms shone across the room,could almost feel thei old glamour caughtyouthful water coloursthe walllonger made him grin;remembered how ferventlyhad triedpaint for her, twelve years before.
she entered, wipinish, andsaw again the bright, kernel white beautyher arms.
“you are quite splendid here,”said, and their eyes met.
“do you like it?”was the old, low, husky toneluick change beginninghi was the old, delicious sublimation, the thinning, almost the vaporizinghimself,if his spirit werebe liberated.
“aye,”nodded, smilingher like abowed her head.
“this was the countess’s chair,” she saidlow tones.“i found her scissors down here between the padding.”
“did you?whereare they?”
quickly, witilther movement, she fetched her work basket, and together they examined the long shanked old scissors.
“whaalladdeal ladies!”he said, laughing,he fitted his fingers into the round loopsthe countess’s scissors.
“i knew you could use them,” she said, wit lookedhis fingers, andth meant his fingers were fine enough for the small looped scissors.
“thatsomethingbe said for me,”laughed, putting the scissor turnedth noticed the fine, fair downher cheek and her upper lip, and her soft, white neck, like the throata tle flower, and her fore arms, brightnewly blanche was lookingher with new eyes, and she waifferent persoid not knocould regard her objectively now.
“shallgo out awhile?” she asked.
“yes!” h the predominant emotion, that troubled the excitement and perplexityhis heart, was fear, fearthat whicas about her the same manner, the same intonationher voice, nowthen, but she was not whathad known knew quite well what she had beengraduallywas realizing that she was something quite other, and always had been.
she putcoveringher head, merely took off her apron, saying, “we willby the larches.”as they passed the old orchard, she called himto show hilue tit’s nestonethe apple trees, anycock’sth rather wonderedher surety,a certain hardness like arrogance hidden under her humility.
“lookthe apple buds,” she said, andthen perceived myriadslittle scarlet balls among the droopin his face, her eyes wen saw the scales were fallen from him, andlastwas goingsee hersh was the thing she had most dreadedthe past, and most needed, for her soul’was goingsee hersh would not love her, andwould knownever could have love old illusion gone, they were strangers, crudehe would give her her due she would have her due from him.
she was brillianthe had not know showed him nests:a jenny wren’sa low bush.
“see this jinty’s!” she exlaimed.
he was surprisedhear her use the loca reachedcarefully through the thorns, and put her fingersthe nest’s round door.
“five!” she said.
“tiny little things.”
she showed him nestsrobins, and chaffinches, and lins, and buntings;a wagtail beside the water.
“andwedown, nearer the lake, i will show yoingfisher’s...”
“among the young fir trees,” she said, “there’hrostle’sa blackie’snearly every bough, ever first day, whead seen them all, i feltiustn’tinseemeitybirds:andthe morning, hearing them all, i thoughtthe noisy earl afraid togomy own wood.”
she was using the language they had boththewas allhad done with it.she did not mind his silence, but was always dominant, letting him seethey came alonarshy path where fetnots were openinga rich blue drift:“we know all the birds, but there are many flowerscan’t find out,”was halfappealhim, who had known the namesthings.
she looked dreamily acrossthe open fields that sleptthe sun.
“i havoverwell, you know,” she said, with assurance, yet dropping again almost into the intimate tone.
this wokehim the spiritfight her.
“i think iis good looking alsoarcady.”
without answering, she turned intark path that ledhill, where the trees and undergrowth were very thick.
“they did well,” she saidlength, “to have various altarsvarious gods,old days.”
“ah yes!”agreed.“to whomthe new one?”
“there areold ones,” she said.“i was always looking for this.”
“and whoseit?”asked.
“i don’t know,” she said, looking fullhim.
“i’m very glad, for your sake,”said, “that you are satisfied.”
“aye but the man doesn’t mattermuch,”waause.
“no!”exlaimed, astonished, yet recognizing herher real self.
“itone’s self that matters,” she said.“whether onebeing one’s own self and serving one’s own god.”
there was silence, during whicath was almost flowerless, the side, his heelssank into soft clay.
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