"There is the churning of the milk too, Dalice," answered Tinoir; "you
are not strong, and sometimes the butter comes slow; and there's the
milking also."

"Strength is coming to me fast, Tinoir," she said, and drew herself up;
but her dress lay almost flat on her bosom. Tinoir took her arm and felt
it above the elbow.

"It is like the muscle of a little child," he said.

"But I will drink those bottles of red wine the Governor sent the last
time you watched the fire on Shaknon," she said, brightening up, and
trying to cheer him. He nodded, for he saw what she was trying to do, and
said: "Also a little of the gentian and orange root three times a day-eh,
Dalice?"

After arranging for certain signs, by little fires, which they were to
light upon the hills and so speak with each other, they said, "Good day,
Dalice," and "Good day, Tinoir," drank a glass of the red wine, and
added: "Thank the good God;" then Tinoir wiped his mouth with his sleeve,
and went away, leaving Dalice with a broken glass at her feet, and a look
in her eyes which it was well that Tinoir did not see.

But as he went he was thinking how, the night before, Dalice had lain
with her arm round his neck hour after hour as she slept, as she did
before they ever had a child; and that even in her sleep, she kissed him
as she used to kiss him before he brought her away from the parish of
Ste. Genevieve to be his wife. And the more he thought about it the
happier he became, and more than once he stopped and shook his head in
pleased retrospection. And Dalice thought of it too as she hung over the