her unconscious protest against the lovelessness of her life. She put
the blackthorn in water and contemplated its whiteness with delight;
but it had not occurred to her that she might herself, with a little
trouble, be as sweet and fresh as its blossom. The spiritualization of
sex would be needed before such things would occur to her. At present
she was sexless as a leaf. They sat by the fire till it went out; then
they went to bed, not troubling to say good-night.

In the middle of the night Foxy woke. The moon filled her kennel-mouth
like a door, and the light shone in her eyes. This frightened her--so
large a lantern in an unseen hand, held so purposefully before the tiny
home of one defenceless little creature. She barked sharply. Hazel
awoke promptly, as a mother at her child's cry. She ran straight out
with her bare feet into the fierce moonlight.

'What ails you?' she whispered. 'What ails you, little un?'

The wind stalked through the Callow, and the Callow moaned. A moan came
also from the plain, and black shapes moved there as the clouds drove
onwards.

'Maybe they're out,' muttered Hazel. 'Maybe the black meet's set for
to-night and she's scented the jeath pack.' She looked about nervously.
'I can see summat driving dark o'er the pastures yonder; they'm abroad,
surely.'

She hurried Foxy into the cottage and bolted the door.

'There!' she said. 'Now you lie good and quiet in the corner, and the
death pack shanna get you.'