water, a woman, is brandy for me. I'm--I'm not used to it. I haven't
wanted Kate here and Mary there; but only you. I've got to have you," he
said with a marked simplicity. "I've got to, or there will be a bad
smash."

Ludowika rode silently, hid in her mask. He urged his horse closer to
her, and laid a hand on her swaying shoulder. "I didn't choose this," he
repeated; "the blame's somewhere else." He felt a tremor run through
her. "Why say blame?" she finally answered. "I hate moralities and
excuses and tears. If you are set on being gloomy, and talking to heaven
about damnation, take it all away from me." A shadow moved across the
countryside, and he saw clouds rising out of the north. A sudden wind
swept through the still forest, and immediately the air was aflame with
rushing autumn leaves. They fell across Howat's face and eddied about
the horses' legs. The grey bank deepened in space, the sun vanished; the
wind was bleak. It seemed to Howat Penny that the world had changed,
its gold stricken to dun and gaunt branches, in an instant. The road
descended to the clustered stone houses about Shadrach Furnace.

The horses were left under the shed of the smithy at the primitive cross
roads. Thomas Gilkan had gone to the river about a purchase of casting
sand, but expected to be back for the evening run of metal. Fanny was
away, Howat learned, visiting Dan Hesa's family. They would, of course,
have dinner at the Heydricks; and the latter sent a boy home to prepare
his wife. Ludowika and Howat aimlessly followed the turning road that
mounted to the coal house. A levelled and beaten path, built up with
stone, led out to the top of the stack, where a group of sooty figures
were gathered about the clear, almost smokeless flame of the blast.
Below they lingered on the grassy edge of the stream banked against the
hillside and flooding smoothly to the clamorous fall and revolving wheel