atmosphere of gloom at old Samson's blind house. She would never, as
Abel always did, 'view the corpse,' and this was always taken as an
insult. So she waited in the road, half snow and half water, and
thought with regret of Undern and its great fire of logs, and the green
rich dress, and Reddin with his force and virility, loud voice, and
strong teeth. He was so very much alive in a world where old men would
keep dying.

Abel came out at last, very gay, for he had been given, over and above
the usual payment, glove-money and a glass of beer.

'Us'll get a drop at the public,' he said.

So they turned in there. Hazel thought the red-curtained, firelit room,
with its crudely coloured jugs and mugs, a most wonderful place. She
sat in a corner of the settle and watched her boots steam, growing very
sleepy. But suddenly there was a great clatter outside, the sound of a
horse, pulled up sharply, slipping on the cobbles, and a shout for the
landlord.

'Oh, my mortal life!' said Hazel, 'it met be the Black Huntsman
himself.'

'No, I won't come in,' said the rider, 'a glass out here.'

Hazel knew who it was.

'Can you tell me,' he went on, 'if there's any young lady about here
with auburn hair? Father plays the fiddle.'