It was indeed the month of desolation. Every scrap of colour
seemed to have faded from the dripping wet landscape. Phantasmal clouds
of grey mist brooded here and there in the hollows. The distant hills
were wreathed in vapour, so that even the green of the pastures was
invisible. Every now and then a snipe started up from one of the weedy
places with his shrill, mournful cry, and more than once a solitary hawk
hovered for a few minutes above his head. The only other sign of life
was a black speck in the distance, a speck which came nearer and nearer
until he paused to watch it, standing upon a little incline and looking
steadily along the rude cart track. The speck grew in size. A person
on horseback,--a woman! Soon she swung her horse around as though she
recognised him, jumped a little dike to reach him the quicker and reined
up her horse by his side, holding one hand down to him. "Mr.
Tallente!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful!" He held her hand, looking
steadfastly, almost eagerly, up into her flushed face. Her eyes were
filled with pleasure. His errand, in those few breathless moments,
seemed no longer the errand of a fool.
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