A single thorn-tree crouched
beside it.
Alice Cartaret and Greatorex went slowly up the Three Fields. There
was neither thought nor purpose in their going.
The quivering air was like a sheet of glass let down between plain and
hill.
Slowly, with mournful cries, a flock of mountain sheep came down over
the shoulder of the moor. Behind them a solitary figure topped the
rise as Alice and Greatorex came up the field-track.
Alice stopped in the track and turned.
"Somebody's coming over the moor. He'll see us."
Greatorex stood scanning the hill.
"'Tis Nad, wi' t' dawg, drivin' t' sheep."
"Oh, Jim, he'll see us."
"Nat he!"
But he drew her behind the shelter of the barn.
"He'll come down the fields. He'll be sure to see us."
"Ef he doos, caann't I walk in my awn fealds wi' my awn sweetheart?"
"I don't want to be seen," she moaned.
"Wall--?" he pushed open the door of the barn. "Wae'll creep in here
than, tall he's paassed."
A gray light slid through the half-shut door and through the long,
narrow slits in the walls. From the open floor of the loft there came
the sweet, heavy scent of hay.
"He'll see the door open. He'll come in. He'll find us here."
"He wawn't."
But Jim shut the door.
"We're saafe enoof. But 'tis naw plaace for yo. Yo'll mook yore lil
feet. Staay there--where yo are--tell I tall yo."
He groped his way in the half darkness up the hay loft stair. She
heard his foot going heavily on the floor over her head.
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