on the night before catherine dennis’s wedding the spangled sky spread, still and cloudless, above pencoed chapel. the plain squareness of the house of worship, and the treeless stretch surrounding it and mrs. job’s cottage hard by, looked all the plainer for the white points of light that burned in remote solemnity over the mountain. the building, but for the one insignificant dwelling, was, as it were, the solitary feature in a bare world; and the starlight on the grey walls gave them an even greater austerity than they had by day.

in the moonless night the gravestones [pg 38]round the chapel, having no shadows to throw them into relief, were merged into general neutrality with the grass. the sharpest things in earth or heaven were the angles of cassiopeia’s chair, high among the constellations, which seemed not to look down on the sleep-bound world but to be turning from it, consciously aloof in their unwavering detachment; a sight to affect some not at all; to oppress some by the comparison of infinitude with their own individualities; to raise others, by that very comparison, to the height of ecstasy—the dim foreknowledge of what that true sense of proportion must be which swallows the individual into the immutable and divine.

at the back of mrs. job’s house the small barn, which had been made habitable as a lodging for travelling preachers, contained a single light; and mrs. job, whose eye had caught the glimmer, crossed the intervening space in the darkness and pushed the door open. catherine dennis [pg 39]rose from her knees at the bedside and faced her, startled, with parted lips. though it was late she had not undressed, and, for a girl on the eve of her wedding to a man she was supposed to love, her look was curious. perhaps she stood in awe of the morrow and of the changes it must bring. there was an air of tension hanging over the bare little room with its scanty, rough furnishings. catherine’s hat lay on the bed; it was as if she had touched nothing, displaced nothing, since she entered the place; only the depressions made by her elbows on the bedcover were so deep they looked like dark pools in the coarse white material.

she confronted mrs. job with the face of one caught in some evil act. the woman’s sharp eyes took in every detail of the scene. she indulged in no useless comment, for it was not her way.

“well,” said she, as though waiting for catherine to speak.

[pg 40]

“i couldn’t rest—i don’t think i can sleep,” said the girl.

“ah, you’ve made your bed and you must lie on it,” said mrs. job grimly.

there was a pause.

“you’ve made a bed that’ll be hard,” she continued, “not for your body but your soul. you’ve taken a man that may give you down to lie on an’ trouble to wake to.”

she seated herself bolt upright upon the single chair the room contained. in the candlelight her thin, sharp nose looked sharper.

“you’ll be goin’ back to the church next,” she added conclusively.

“but charles is a baptist,” said catherine.

“a baptist? a baptist?” cried the other; “he’s nothin’—not him—but a lukewarm christian. and you who might have been married to heber!”

she looked at the girl as though she were dust beneath her feet; she could not [pg 41]understand her. she had never yet mentioned black heber’s name to the harassed little bride-elect; but she seemed likely to make up for that omission now.

“that was a man,” she went on, “not a soft, blow-hot-an’-cold fellow that could behave to ye like saunders behaved at bethesda! heber’s a man of his word, an’ you broke your word to him, an’ saunders broke his word to you; yes, an’ will again too. if he can’t keep faith wi’ his sweetheart what’ll he do with his wife?”

“but he’s a very good-living man,” began catherine.

“that may be,” cried mrs. job, raising her voice; “but there’s no religion in him! he don’t care for nothin’ but his cattle an’ his money an’ his buyin’ an’ sellin’ an’ layin’ up riches. what’s the use o’ that when his heart’s proud before god an’ the truth’s not in him? maybe ye’ll live to find it out, girl. an’ when ye do, don’t come to me. don’t tell me i didn’t warn ye. this [pg 42]is a sad night for ye, catherine dennis, an’ to-morrow may be a sadder day, if i’m not mistaken.

“but i’ve warned ye,” she said, rising; “an’ may be the lord robbed ye o’ your sleep this night that i might bring home the warning.”

she lifted the latch and paused on the threshold, looking back into the room like some ominous, uncouth shadow between catherine and the star-set night outside. her steps were audible crossing the space between the barn and her own house, and the bang of the door, and the loud scrape of the key as she locked it, had a suggestive finality that awed the listener sitting alone with the guttering candle.

catherine remained crouched where she was; she did not go to bed, for her body seemed as numb and frozen as her heart. the sound of the shutting door brought home the truth that another door had closed for good and all; though mrs. job [pg 43]befriended her still and was giving her the hospitality of her roof on this last night of her girlhood, she was as much cut off from her as if she had openly declared herself an enemy. catherine understood that. she felt herself lost, somehow, in the incalculable ways of life; she knew herself to be timid and irresolute to an absolutely fatal degree and she clung all the more to any hand that was stretched forward.

she wondered why she had parted from heber moorhouse; for, in spite of the half-hearted fear with which his uncommon personality and decided doings inspired her, she had liked him better than saunders. he might look like an outlaw, but he was an honest man. why had she listened to her mistress at the farm when she told her nobody but a born fool would refuse charles saunders? heber was a proud man, she knew; an unforgiving one, she believed. no doubt he hated her now and mrs. job was turning away from her for ever. she [pg 44]remembered charles’s bitter words and heavy-browed rage on the way home from bethesda. she had seen a new charles that day. was that the man she was to live with the rest of her life, and for whose sake she was parting with her old ways and her old friends? he had said a good deal to her about the home he was going to give her and enumerated its comforts and glories many times; and she had listened with pleasure and looked forward to the realisation of his pictures; but now she did so no more. these things were untried, terrible, full of pitfalls. and worse than any vision she could raise, or any misgiving about her betrothed, was the half-superstitious belief growing on her that she was doing wrong.

catherine’s fears had been worked on as much by mrs. job’s grim appearance and the menace in her voice as by any words she had said. she was dazed and weary, so weary that the effort of undressing was [pg 45]too much for her slackened will. there was no clock in the barn to tell her how the hours went by, or how many lay between her and to-morrow’s fate. it seemed that everything had passed out of her control and that she could only be still, a sad, helpless heap, her hands clasped round her knees and her head bowed on the footboard of the wooden bedstead. and this was the eve of her wedding!

she did not know how long she had stayed there when there was a sound outside which made her sit upright to listen. before she could collect her wits, a smart, short rap fell upon the door and a hand passed over the outside of it as though groping for the latch.

despairing fear seized catherine. she did not move nor answer and her heart bounded in her as though it would beat her side to pieces. as the knock sounded again she hid her face in her palms. when she looked up the door was open, and a [pg 46]tall figure stood on the threshold, with a star looking over either shoulder out of the patch of fathomless sky framed in the doorway.

she could not even scream as heber moorhouse strode towards her, but she was aware of a horse which stood outside and the warm contact of a man’s hands as they closed over her own.

“i’ve come for ye, catherine,” he said, drawing her to her feet.

she tried to free her hands, but he held them fast.

“saunders shan’t have ye,” he went on. “when he comes to pencoed in the morning there’ll be nobody to meet him but mrs. job. you’re coming with me.”

“i can’t—i can’t—” she exclaimed desperately.

“he shan’t have you,” said heber again, as if he had not heard her. “d’ye think i’ve ridden all this way for nothing?”

[pg 47]

“it’s too late. there’s nought to be done now,” cried the girl. “go—go, heber. let me be! oh, what shall i do? what shall i do?”

“you’ll do what i bid you. come, catherine; it’s best done first as last. i’ve got a cloak for you there on the saddle.”

the horse moved outside, and the sound sent black heber to the door. all was as still as death, and he turned back.

“there’s no time to lose,” said he. “come, be a good girl.”

as he spoke an imperceptible stir of air flicked at the candle-flame and its shine struck on the gold ring with a device of clasped hands on catherine’s finger. he took her almost roughly by the wrist.

“take that off,” he said; “you’ll need it no more.”

she shook her head.

“take it off,” he repeated again, standing over her.

she hesitated and then obeyed.

[pg 48]

it looked as though the action had decided her fate. he took the ring from her and laid it on the table.

“saunders ’ll find it there safe,” he observed, smiling, “and it’s all he’ll find.”

he drew her outside to the high doorstep, and, taking the cloak from the strap on the saddle, he put it round her. she was as passive as if the loss of her ring had mesmerised her. she felt destiny slipping from her hold and the relief from its weight was well-nigh grateful to her in her bewilderment. but she was being forced to do a terrible thing, and she could not even tell whether or no it was against her will. if only mrs. job would come back and either bid her go with this man or save her from him!

it was not heber’s mountain pony that waited outside, but a big, dark horse, seeming colossal to catherine in the uncertainty of the night. while she stood on the step he leaped into the saddle.

[pg 49]

“now,” said he, “put your foot on mine and come.”

she drew back, a last protest on her lips; as it left them he leaned down and gripped her by both arms.

“step up,” he said.

the stone slab she stood on was a fair height above the level of the horse’s feet, and, as she set her foot upon the shepherd’s boot, he swung her up in front of him and turned the beast’s head from the barn. she gave a cry, clinging to him as they moved forward, and his arm tightened round her, drawing her close.

“i won’t let ye drop, my dear,” said he: “no fear o’ that, catherine. we’re going to talgwynne.”

“to talgwynne?”

“to my father’s house. nobody’ll meddle with us there and we’ll leave it man and wife before long.”

as they crossed the yard and turned the corner of mrs. job’s house stillness lay on [pg 50]the world round them as the tide lies on the sands. but it was a strange thing that when they were a few yards distant on the green road past pencoed chapel, a latch was raised softly in the cottage.

and, as the tread of the dark horse died away, mrs. job, like sarah in the scriptures, stood behind the door and laughed.

black heber set his face to the open stretches below the mountain. above, treading the paths of the sky, the planets wheeled on their way towards morning; the constellations had turned a little. the night, as it approached its zenith, had lightened under the dominance of the shining groups with their myriad companions.

catherine was so slight that the double weight made small difference to the animal which carried the pair. heber’s strong clasp held her firmly in front of him in the large country saddle, and as she grew more accustomed [pg 51]to the horse’s movements she sat more upright, looking into the darkness. to her eyes it was darkness positive, though to her discarded but inalienable lover, with his keen shepherd’s sight and his familiarity with every rood of the ground in all aspects and circumstances of weather, season, and hour, it was only comparative. it struck her that she would not have felt so secure with charles under like conditions, though he considered himself a finer horseman and though he was such a well-appointed figure when he rode into the market-town on his sleek hackney. she would hardly have been a woman had the thought not given her pleasure. they turned towards the hill as the track opened into unconfined wideness. they had spoken little and no caress had passed between the reunited couple; heber had not so much as kissed the woman in his arms. his attention was centred on the dark course he was steering, or fixed on landmarks only visible to his practised [pg 52]gaze. nothing moved upon the hill-slopes rising on their left hand to bank themselves against the stars.

the horse was a fast walker and they had kept to a foot’s pace the whole way. all at once a stone, loosened perhaps from its bed on a higher level by the foot of some grazing sheep, came rolling down the hillside. they could hear it coming almost from the start of its downward career, though in the darkness it was impossible to guess at what point it might cross their way. the horse cocked his ears and sidled, and heber shortened his rein, holding the girl as in a vice.

the thing bounded across their path, a dim, shapeless, momentary flash of grey on its irresponsible journey from nowhere to nowhere, and the startled beast planted his forefeet and would have turned but for heber’s strong hand and the grip of his knees. as she felt the swerve, catherine threw her arms round the rider with a sob [pg 53]of terror and clung to him with her face buried in his shoulder.

then it was as if madness had entered into black heber with her clasp and the close pressure of her cheek; and the mountain air that blew on his forehead stung him with its associations of freedom, and space, and action. he gave a shout that rang against the slopes and sent the horse forward at a gallop.

they rushed on through the night; in the starlight the animal took his way safely along the smooth turf. there was no obstacle and no rough ground in the whole of the stretch before them. wild exultation filled heber, and his right arm was wound round the slight creature, who was as a child in his hold. as long as they galloped thus, so long, he knew, she would cling to him; there was room in his mind for nothing but the insane desire to race on for ever with the hill air smiting his face and her arms about him. no, [pg 54]indeed, saunders should not have her! he laughed aloud to think of his discovery in the morning.

it was well enough for him to laugh, and gallop, and exult, and to give free play to the spirit of madness that the events of the night had awakened in his wild heart, but catherine was almost fainting. she had lost all power of speech and could only strain her trembling body convulsively to him; her breath was coming in sobs, stifled by the contact of his coat. at every moment she thought to be dashed into the night-stricken void through which they were rushing. the wind of their pace tore at her hair and was cold on her neck. the echoes of their flying hoof-beats were flung back from the hill.

they raced on. they were nearing the end of the mountain when heber pulled up and she ventured to raise her head and turn her cramped limbs. she was shaking all over. “put me down,” she entreated; [pg 55]but she could scarcely finish her sentence for the kisses with which he was covering her lips, her cheeks, the loosened hair upon her brow. saunders had never kissed her like that. she dared not struggle, for the last half-mile had worn her out and she was afraid of falling; she could only pray to be allowed to walk.

he set her upon the ground at last, and dismounted beside her. it was some time before he could persuade her that she must go forward if she did not want to spend the night upon the hills. she was completely unnerved, and when she finally suffered him to put her in the saddle he led the horse on, walking at its head. she sat with her knee crooked on the saddle-tree, her white face drooping with fatigue; two great plaits of hair were falling to her waist.

the appalling complications that life can weave round its victims had never been brought home to her so forcibly before: [pg 56]she was too tired and frightened even to think of the end of this crazy journey or of what would be its results; she was adrift and cut off from every one but the wild man who walked in front with his hand on the bridle. her back ached and she was bewildered and cold.

they plodded on till they had left the hill behind and were on the road. two o’clock was striking from the tower of talgwynne church as they entered the little town, and the sound rang over the empty street. heber stopped at a door in a by-lane, and bidding catherine remain on horseback, he flung a handful of small stones against an upper window. the casement was opened with some caution and a head was thrust out. catherine started as she heard a woman speak.

“it’s me,” said heber; “let me in.”

before he had ended his request the head was withdrawn, and in a few minutes the door opened like a yawning mouth in the [pg 57]whitewashed wall. the woman ran back for a light. black heber lifted catherine from the saddle, and she followed him in.

the striking of matches came from an adjacent room, and, when the light flared up, the girl found herself looking into a flagged kitchen from which emanated the faint warmth of a half-dead fire. the woman who had admitted them was bending over the lamp she was lighting, with its chimney, which she had taken off, in her hand; she replaced it, screwing up the wick, and turned to heber.

her expression as she caught sight of the girl behind him was singular, and she neither came forward nor spoke a word, but stood looking at the shepherd, her reddish hair taking a redder glow from the lamp. the colour ran up to her face and remained in a bright spot on each of her high cheek-bones. faint lines about her mouth and jaw showed that she had passed her freshest youth, though her full figure and [pg 58]unfaded eyes held all the attraction of womanhood in the mid-thirties. she had hurried on a few clothes, but her bodice was carelessly fastened and strained across her full bosom. when she turned her attention to catherine she seemed to be looking down at her from a height.

“here’s my girl, catherine dennis,” said heber shortly. “ye’ll not refuse her a bed to-night, susannah.”

there was a tentative ring through his words which catherine had not heard before.

“there’s no bed but mine,” said the other.

“she’s dead tired,” added heber. “where’s father?”

“asleep,” answered susannah. “it’s nigh on morning.”

without more ado he turned, leaving the women together, and mounted the stair outside the kitchen door.

the elder of the two pushed forward [pg 59]a chair with grudging hospitality and motioned to the unexpected guest to take it. catherine drew near to what warmth there was left; she had been meek enough through all heber’s vagaries, but there was something in her companion’s manner that stirred her blood, and her spirit was rising. susannah threw some wood upon the red embers in the grate and raked the bottom bar. then she stood with one hand on her hip, regarding catherine, until the silence became so irksome that the girl felt herself forced to speak.

“i’ll stay here by the fire,” she said. “i don’t need a bed.”

the other had made no offer of sharing her own with the stranger, but the bare idea of being alone with susannah in the dark frightened catherine. the tacit antagonism between them was stronger with each breath they drew.

for a few minutes the sound of voices continued overhead and was heard through [pg 60]the ceiling, and then the shepherd came down again. he went up to catherine and took her hand.

“you’ll stay here,” said he, “an’ i’ll go home wi’ the horse. i’ll settle wi’ them at the farm and be back in a day or two, an’ the minister ’ll do the rest. give me a kiss, catherine.”

had she wished to refuse him, the intuitive knowledge that the other woman would gladly have disputed her claim on heber made her consent. he kissed her heartily.

“what did uncle say?” demanded susannah, watching the pair with her defiant eyes.

heber laughed. “never you mind, my dear. you take care o’ my girl, and i’ll tell you when i come back.”

he went out, followed by susannah, and mounted the horse. susannah shut the house door and locked it behind him.

then she stole upstairs without returning to the kitchen and leaned out of her window [pg 61]till long after he had turned the corner of the bylane. she did not want to sleep when at last she lay down; but it was no concern for the chilled and lonely guest at the hearth below that kept her waking.

catherine sat on by the fire, so tired that the silence fallen on the house with the shutting of susannah’s window was a relief. she was aching, and her limbs felt the strain of that gallop along the edge of the hill. surely there never was a woman so hard driven by the caprices of contrary winds as she; never a bride who was to watch the dawning of her expected wedding-day in such an untoward plight. above her head enmity—there was small doubt of that—and now heber was miles away. he had appeared, only to drag her from the beaten path to the altar and to disappear again, leaving her stranded. though, even now, she did not actually regret saunders, her soul was overwhelmed by the things she had heard about the shepherd before [pg 62]the breaking of her troth with him. people had called him “a wild man,” shaking their heads, but she had never been able to reconcile the accusation with his strict principles and religious zeal. out of chapel and in it he was not the same man, though no one had yet made any definite allegation against him. labels play a large part in the imagination of youth and she was young enough to be desperately impressed by discrepancies and contradictions. her association with him had been short, and ran smoothly till its breaking, but she had learnt little about men from it. until their quiet courtship had begun, her lot had been entirely with women. her mistress had not given her much latitude, and heber had been seldom to the farm; their walks to and from pencoed chapel on sundays had been almost the only meetings of the engaged pair. the man who had dismounted at the door of mrs. job’s barn and whirled her, terrified, through the starlight, could not [pg 63]have existed in those untroubled sabbaths. he could not be the same person as the heber she had known. she did not suspect that, though he had always existed, she had never seen him. a like puzzle had dismayed her in saunders; the same chameleon-like habit of turning, under new circumstances, into a different being. her simple philosophy and experience had given her nothing with which to meet these problems.

she had sat some time when there was a movement above and a step came quietly down the stairs. catherine straightened herself, her eyes dilating as susannah entered. she carried no light, but the intermittent flame in the grate played on her, alternately hiding and revealing her face. she sat down at the table, leaning her elbow on it, and her companion did not need the sudden illumination starting from the fire to make her aware of her expression.

“i’ve heard about you,” said susannah.

[pg 64]

catherine turned away her head. it seemed to her that her best refuge was in silence.

“there’s not much heber hides from me,” continued the other; “it isn’t for nothing he comes back to his father’s house time and again as he do. he’s reckoned a good son, is heber.”

the sly scorn of her laugh ran like an electric current through the kitchen.

“i mind when he parted wi’ you,” she went on. “he come back to me. i knew he’d come. ‘that’s over, my dear,’ says he, ‘an’ over for good an’ all, too. a false woman’s better found out before the ring’s on her hand.’ an’ false you are, too,” added susannah loudly—“to heber first and to saunders last.”

“but here i am all the same,” rejoined catherine, her spirit roused where another woman was concerned.

susannah laughed again.

“well, why not?” she cried; “no one [pg 65]knows better nor me why you’re here. heber’s not one to let the paying of his debts slip out of his mind. ‘saunders shall never have her,’ says he. ‘i’ll be even wi’ saunders.’ and like enough he’ll be even wi’ you, too, catherine dennis. are you goin’ to stop here waitin’ for him? maybe you’ll have to wait longer than you think.”

defiance died out of the girl’s face, and a chill went to her heart as this new and dreadful idea reached her. through the darkness susannah heard the catch of her breath. she rose, and coming close to catherine, she knelt down and thrust a stick from the bundle lying in the chimney-corner between the bars. she crouched, devouring the other with her fierce look as the fire blazed up.

“it’s not a white-faced thing like you that’s the match for a man like him,” she added.

her companion watched her, fascinated. she felt small and poor in the presence of [pg 66]susannah’s bold womanhood. the angles which the wear of life and work had begun to accentuate strengthened, by contrast, her untamed generosity of line. her red lips were drawn back a little from her even teeth, and her hair, tousled by contact with her pillow, burned in hotter colours in the glow which came from the grate.

she had repelled catherine so completely, that only at this moment did she strike her as a creature of possible attraction, something more than a mere sordid, sexless influence. but, with the warm light and some undercurrent in susannah’s voice and talk, there came to the younger woman a new view of her companion. this throb of revelation was still quick in her when susannah spoke again.

“yes, you may wait,” she said slowly; “you may sit and wait—and you’ll know something more at the end nor you do now. have i lived here for nigh upon three years under the old man’s roof for nothin’? is [pg 67]heber my own cousin for nothin’? d’ye think because i haven’t got a white face an’ soft ways that no man has ever looked at me? d’ye believe that when heber comes home it’s uncle that he comes for?”

she rose to her feet, and as she did so she shook her head, and her rolled-up hair fell and hung below her waist. she picked up the horn comb that clattered down upon the hearthstone.

“look!” she cried, holding out the tangled mass. her arm was at full stretch, and as the ends of hair slipped away from between palm and fingers, the sleeve of her coarse night-smock slipped back too and her thick, round arm showed through the sleeve as a patch of the white moon through the drifting of dusky cloud.

it began to dawn on catherine that she was more than the sport of her own evil luck; she was a pawn in the hands of heber and of this strange woman, who was making her, in spite of herself, feel her almost [pg 68]brutal fascination. what could she do in such a trap? even she, with her timid, simple experiences, could guess that susannah loved her cousin, and her heart quailed at the bitter thought which was assuming a certainty; it was revenge only that had prompted the shepherd to snatch her from the man who had supplanted him, while she had supposed, in her folly, that he loved her still; it was a double revenge that black heber was wreaking on herself and on saunders. the blood ran to her face as she remembered his kisses at the end of their headlong ride. he had but sought to make her humiliation more complete. how meekly she had followed him out of the door at pencoed! she had distrusted herself all her life; and now she must despise herself too, as she sat, a deluded fool, in front of susannah, who knew all, and was mocking her because of the knowledge.

when people have been a long time in learning some elementary truth, the lesson, [pg 69]once made plain, takes complete hold of them. catherine had never yet attempted to act for herself and now she saw that she must awake from her passiveness and free herself, once and for all, from the web in which she was taken. as she looked at susannah she pierced beyond her into a new sequence of ideas. she had been hunted into a corner because she had been too ready to run. all the people she had known were so much stronger than she was that she had given up her own will to theirs without a struggle. her mistress at the farm, mrs. job, heber, and now susannah; none of these suffered themselves to be dragged about by circumstances and by others as she had done. she was having hard measure from them all and it was time that, independently of them all, she should choose her own life. only intense physical exhaustion kept her from running out of the house, yet again, into the night, where she might be alone with her biting mortification. [pg 70]the same roof should not shelter herself and susannah.

perhaps a shade of pity smote the elder woman at the sight of her white cheeks and her heavy eyes, dark with weariness. she took her by the shoulder.

“there,” she said, “come you in here and lie down or you’ll be dead afore morning.”

she opened a door and pushed her into a tiny room in which the flicker from the kitchen fire showed the outline of a mattress on the floor. susannah bade her lie down while she fetched a covering and she obeyed; she would have liked to rebel, but her fatigue was too great. when the elder woman left her she lay still for a space, her one thought of escape. then she slept, worn out; to-morrow—somehow—she would begin the world for herself.