In an instant the man was transfigured.
"The trumpets!" he cried hoarsely. "The trumpets! Didn't you hear them?" The light in his eyes was fanatic. Instinctively Valerie shrank away. Regardless, he let her go. "I forgot. Gramarye—I'm pledged to her. It's too late, Valerie. Oh, why did you come?" He buried his face in his hands. "You'll never understand," he muttered. "I know you never will. It's no good—no good…." Suddenly he stood upright and took off his hat. Then he smiled very tenderly and shook his head. "It's too late, Valerie—my sweet—my darling…. Too late…."
He turned and strode down the track towards the tottering bridge.
For a moment Patch stood looking from him to the girl, uncertain and puzzled. Then he went scampering in Anthony's wake.
* * * * *
"As soon as you've finished, Lyveden, we'll have that fir down. It's the only way. With that list on her, she may go any day. And, when she does, as like as not she'll push half the bank into the road."
Anthony, who was munching bread and meat, nodded agreement. His employer got up and strolled in the direction from which the crunch of wheels upon a rough road argued the approach of a supply of posts and rails.
The fence about the estate was going up.
It was indeed high time. What was left of the old paling was in evil case. Worm and rot had corrupted with a free hand. There was hardly a chain, all told, that merited repair. So Gramarye was to have a new girdle. For the last week Winchester and his little band had been working at nothing else. A spell of fine weather favouring them, the work flew. Master and men worked feverishly, but for once in a way, without relish. The industry of the gnome was still there, but it had become nervous.
The reason for this must be made clear.