She had fronted him at once.
"No, thank you, Mr. Helbeck. I don't go to church—I never did with papa."
Had she been defiant? He surely had been stiff.
"Then, perhaps you would like the pony—for your visit? He is quite at your service for the day. Would that suit you?"
"Perfectly."
* * * * *
So here she was—at last!—climbing up and up into the heart of the fells. The cloud-pageant round the high mountains, the valley with its flashing streams, its distant sands, and widening sea—she had risen as it seemed above them all; they lay beneath her in a map-like unity. She could have laughed and sung out of sheer physical joy in the dancing air—in the play of the cloud gleams and shadows as they swept across her, chased by the wind. All about her the little mountain sheep were feeding in the craggy "intaks" or along the edges of the tiny tumbling streams; and at intervals amid the reds and yellows of the still wintry grass rose great wind-beaten hollies, sharp and black against the blue distance, marching beside her, like scattered soldiers, up the height.
Not a house to be seen, save on the far slopes of distant hills—not a sound, but the chink of the stone-chat, or the fall of lonely water.
Soon the road, after its long ascent, began to dip; a few trees appeared in a hollow, then a gate and some grey walls.
Laura jumped from the cart. Beyond the gate, the road turned downward a little, and a great block of barns shut the farmhouse from view till she was actually upon it.