fixed gaze and take his thoughts from her. Instinctively she groped thus for time, she who like a deer would flee if flight were possible, even while her heart welled with pity for him. “Come. You can talk with her whilst I get you some supper.” She felt his pent-up emotion and secretly feared it, but held herself bravely. “Hoyle will nigh jump out of his skin, he’ll be that glad you come back.”

He stood stubbornly where he was, and lifted his hand to grasp her arm, but she glided on just beyond his reach, either not seeing it, or avoiding it, he could not decide which, and still she said, “Come, Frale.” He followed stumblingly in her wake, as a man follows an ignis fatuus, unconscious of the roughness of the way or of the steps he was taking — and the flute notes followed