not until he had sent back the car in which he had driven as far as the station, and was swinging on foot across Woolhanger Moor, that he realised fully why he had come, why he had schemed for these two days out of a life packed with multifarious tasks.  Then he laughed at himself, heartily yet a little self-consciously.  A fool’s errand might yet be a pleasant one, even though his immediate surroundings seemed to mock the sound of his mirth.  Woolhanger Moor in November was a drear enough sight.  There were many patches of black mud and stagnant water, carpets of treacherous-looking green moss, bare clumps of bushes bent all one way by the northwest wind, masses of rock, gaunter and sterner now that their summer covering of creeping shrubs and bracken had lost their foliage.  It was indeed the month of desolation.  Every scrap of colour seemed to have faded from the dripping wet landscape.  Phantasmal clouds of grey mist brooded here and there in the hollows.  The distant hills were wreathed in vapour, so that even the green of the pastures was invisible.  Every now and then a snipe started up from one of the weedy places with his shrill, mournful cry, and more than once a solitary hawk hovered for a few minutes above his head.  The only other sign of life was a black speck in the distance, a speck which came nearer and nearer until he paused to watch it, standing upon a little incline and looking steadily along the rude cart track.  The speck grew in size.  A person on horseback,—­a woman!  Soon she swung her horse around as though she recognised him, jumped a little dike to reach him the quicker and reined up her horse by his side, holding one hand down to him.  “Mr. Tallente!” she exclaimed.  “How wonderful!” He held her hand, looking steadfastly, almost eagerly, up into her flushed face.  Her eyes were filled with pleasure.  His errand, in those few breathless moments, seemed no longer the errand of a fool.

“I can’t realise it, even now,” she went on, drawing her hand away at last.  “I pictured you at Westminster, in committee rooms and all sorts of places.  Aren’t you forging weapons to drive us from our homes and portion out our savings?”

“I have left the thunderbolts alone for one short week-end,” he answered.  “I felt a hunger for this moorland air.  London becomes so enveloping.”  Jane sat upright upon her horse and looked at him with a mocking smile.  “How ungallant!  I hoped you had come to atone for your neglect.”

“Have I neglected you?” he asked quietly, turning and walking by her side.

“Shockingly!  You lunched with me on the seventh of August.  I see you again on the second of November, and I do believe that I shall have to save you from starvation again.”

“It’s quite true,” he admitted.  “I have a sandwich in my pocket, though, in case you were away from home.”

“Worse than ever,” she sighed.  “You didn’t even trouble to make enquiries.”

“From whom should I?  Robert—­my servant—­his wife, and a boy to help in the garden are all my present staff at the Manor.  Robert drives the car and waits on me, and his wife cooks.  They are estimable people, but I don’t think they are up in local news.”