of the tragedy. It was not only the financial losses in which she was
involved, or the derision of her neighbours, or the fulfilment of their
prophecy--or even the fall of her own pride and the shattering of that
dream in which the giant sheep walked--there was also an element of
almost savage pity for the animals whom her daring had betrayed. Those
dead ewes, too stupid to mate themselves profitably and now the victims
of the farm-socialism that had experimented with them.... At first she
ordered Socknersh to save the ewes even at the cost of the lambs, then
when in the little looker's hut she saw a ewe despairingly lick the
fleece of its dead lamb, an even deeper grief and pity smote her, and
she burst suddenly and stormily into tears.

Sinking on her knees on the dirty floor, she covered her face, and
rocked herself to and fro. Socknersh sat on his three-legged stool,
staring at her in silence. His forehead crumpled slightly and his mouth
twitched, as the slow processes of his thought shook him. The air was
thick with the fumes of his brazier, from which an angry red glow fell
on Joanna as she knelt and wept.




§15

When the first sharpness of death had passed from Ansdore, Joanna's
sanguine nature, her hopeful bumptiousness, revived. Her pity for the
dead lambs and her fellow-feeling of compassion for the ewes would
prevent her ever dreaming of a new experiment, but already she was
dreaming of a partial justification of the old one--her cross-bred lambs
would grow so big both in size and price that they would, even in their