imbecile. Unwilling, he went through it all. A dog barked violently at
him. He peered in all the buildings. At last, as he opened the upper door
of a sort of intermediate barn, he heard a grinding noise, and looking
in, holding up his lantern, saw Maurice, in his shirt-sleeves, standing
listening, holding the handle of a turnip-pulper. He had been pulping
sweet roots, a pile of which lay dimly heaped in a corner behind him.

'That you, Wernham?' said Maurice, listening.

'No, it's me,' said Bertie.

A large, half-wild grey cat was rubbing at Maurice's leg. The blind
man stooped to rub its sides. Bertie watched the scene, then
unconsciously entered and shut the door behind him, He was in a high sort
of barn-place, from which, right and left, ran off the corridors in front
of the stalled cattle. He watched the slow, stooping motion of the other
man, as he caressed the great cat.

Maurice straightened himself.

'You came to look for me?' he said.

'Isabel was a little uneasy,' said Bertie.

'I'll come in. I like messing about doing these jobs.'

The cat had reared her sinister, feline length against his leg, clawing
at his thigh affectionately. He lifted her claws out of his flesh.

'I hope I'm not in your way at all at the Grange here,' said Bertie,