They were walking together through the woods, half a mile along the
Hathersage valley. Beneath them the ground fell steeply away, above them
it rose as steeply to the right. Underfoot the new life of spring was
bourgeoning in mould and grass and undergrowth; for the heather did not
come down so far as this; and the daffodils and celandine and wild
hyacinth lay in carpets of yellow and blue, infinitely sweet, beneath
the shadow of the trees and in the open sunshine. (It was at this time
that the squire of Matstead was entering the church and hearing of the
promises of the Lord to the sinner who forsook his sinful ways.)

"I have had other thoughts," said the boy slowly, "but they are so wild
and foolish that I have determined to think no more of them."

"You are determined?"

He bowed his head.

"You are sure, then, that they are not from God?" asked the girl, torn
between fear and hope. He was silent; and her heart sank again.

He looked, indeed, a bewildered boy, borne down by a weight that was too
heavy for his years. He walked with his hands behind his back, his
hatless head bowed, regarding his feet and the last year's leaves on
which he walked. A cuckoo across the valley called with the insistence
of one who will be answered.

"My Robin," said the girl, "the last thing I would have you do is to
tell me what you would not.... Will you not speak to the priest about
it?"