men who had gone first, had another waggon in readiness to take home the
women who had come to the hill on foot or who had sent away their
vehicles. Many of them did not belong to the village of Chellaston. It
was evidently better that the lighter waggon which had come from
Chellaston should go round now to the outlying farms, and that all the
villagers should return in that provided by the farmer. Trenholme put in
the child, who was now sleeping, and helped in the women, one by one.
Their white skirts were wet and soiled; he felt this as he aided them to
dispose them on the straw which had been put in for warmth. The farmer,
an Englishman, made some wise, and not uncivil, observations upon the
expediency of remaining at home at dead of night as compared with
ascending hills in white frocks. He was a kind man, but his words made
Winifred's tears flow afresh. She shrank behind the rest. Trenholme
kissed her little cold hand when he had put her in. Then, last of all,
he helped Sophia.

She had no words ready now to offer him by which to make amends. "You
have hurt your foot?" she said.

He told her briefly that his foot had twisted under him, so that at
first he had not been able to come on for the sprain, and he clasped her
hand as he bade the waggon drive on.

Feeling the lack of apology on her own part she thought he had shown
himself the greater, in that he had evidently pardoned her without it.

He did not feel himself to be great.

The cart jolted away. Trenholme stood in the farmyard. The light of a
lantern made a little flare about the stable door. The black, huge