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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Better not. Much better not." "I must," she said. They set out along the field-track. Steve, carrying his master's luggage, went in front, at a little distance. He didn't want to see them, still less to hear them speak. But they did not speak. At the creek's bank Steve was ready with the boat. Majendie took Maggie's hand and pressed it.
We crossed the bridge, and walked on by a field-track that skirted the edge of the wold. How thin and clean were the tints of the dry ploughlands and the long sweep of pasture! Presently we were at the foot of a green drift-road, an old Roman highway that ran straight up into the downs.
The quivering air was like a sheet of glass let down between plain and hill. Slowly, with mournful cries, a flock of mountain sheep came down over the shoulder of the moor. Behind them a solitary figure topped the rise as Alice and Greatorex came up the field-track. Alice stopped in the track and turned. "Somebody's coming over the moor. He'll see us." Greatorex stood scanning the hill.
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