‘It is cold to-night.’

‘Why are you out so late?’

‘I lost my way in this wood.’

Now, indeed, Martin allowed himself a refreshing laugh of scorn.

‘Lost your way in the mighty forest of Briarmains! You deserve never more to find it.’

‘I never was here before, and I believe I am trespassing now: you might inform against me if you chose, Martin, and have me fined: it is your father’s wood.’

‘I should think I knew that; but since you are so simple as to lose your way, I will guide you out.’

‘You need not; I have got into the tract now; I shall be right. Martin’ (a little quickly), ‘how is Mr. Moore?’

Martin had heard certain rumours: it struck him that it might be amusing to make an experiment.

‘Going to die. Nothing can save him. All hope flung overboard!’

She put her veil aside. She looked into his eyes, and said:

‘To die!’

‘To die. All along of the women, my mother and the rest; they did something about his bandages that finished everything; he would have got better but for them. I am sure they should be arrested, cribbed, tried, and brought in for Botany Bay, at the very least.’

The questioner, perhaps, did not hear this judgment; she stood motionless. In two minutes, without another word, she moved forwards; no good-night, no further inquiry. This was not amusing, nor what Martin had calculated on; he expected something dramatic and demonstrative; it was hardly worth while to frighten the girl, if she would not entertain him in return. He called:

‘Miss Helstone!’

She did not hear or turn. He hastened after and overtook her.

‘Come. Are you uneasy about what I said?’

‘You know nothing about death, Martin; you are too young for me to talk to concerning such a thing.’

‘Did you believe me? It’s all flummery! Moore eats like three men; they are always making sago or tapioca, or something good, for him: I never go into the kitchen but there is a saucepan on the fire, cooking him some dainty. I think I will play the old soldier, and be fed on the fat of the land like him.’

‘Martin! Martin!’ Her voice trembled, and she stopped. ‘It is exceedingly wrong of you, Martin; you have almost killed me.’

Again she stopped; she leaned against a tree, trembling, shuddering, and as pale as death.

Martin contemplated her with inexpressible curiosity. In one sense it was, as he would have expressed it, ‘nuts’ to him to see this; it told him so much, and he was beginning to have a great relish for discovering secrets; in another sense, it reminded him of what he had once felt when he had heard a blackbird lamenting for her nestlings, which Matthew had crushed with a stone, and that was not a pleasant feeling. Unable to find anything very appropriate to say, in order to comfort her, he began to cast about in his mind what he could do; he smiled; the lad’s smile gave wondrous transparency to his physiognomy.