treated him shabbily. He had lost his nerve for new ventures. But Miss
Henderson had made things easy. She had struck him as considerate and
sensible--a "good sort." He would do his best for her.

Rachel Henderson, left to herself, did not immediately re-enter the
house. She went with a face on which the cloud still rested to look at
the well which was to be found under the cart-shed, at the eastern end of
the house.

It was covered with a wooden lid which she removed. Under the shed roof
there was but little light left. A faint gleam showed the level of the
water, which, owing to the long drought, was very low. Hastings had told
her that the well was extremely deep---150 feet at least, and
inexhaustible. The water was chalky but good. It would have to be pumped
up every morning for the supply of the house and stables.

The well had a brick margin. Rachel sat down upon it, her eyes upon that
distant gleam below. The dusk was fast possessing itself of all the farm,
and an evening wind was gustily blowing through the cart-shed, playing
with some old guano sacks that had been left there, and whistling round
the corners of the house. Outside, Rachel could hear the horse fidgeting,
and old Jonathan coughing--no doubt as a signal to her that she had kept
him long enough.

Still, she sat bent together on the margin of the well. Then she drew off
her glove, and felt for something in the leather bag she carried on her
wrist. She took it out, and the small object sparkled a little as she
held it poised for a moment--as though considering. Then with a rapid
movement, she bent over the well, and dropped it into the water. There
was a slight splash.