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But as he drew even with her he saw that he had mistaken May for November. The bundle of wood, which he now saw to be bigger even than he had first thought, was on the shoulders of Harman's foundling, young Condemnation. Her face was nearly lost in the penthouse of it that reached far over her head, but he saw the white gleam of her skin and the dark gleam of her eyes between the paleness of her bare arms lifted on each side of the load.

Gervase greeted her kindly.

"Good day, child. Where art thou for, so laden?"

"Höame," she said, and he saw that she stopped short on the word because she was breathless. She could scarcely breathe under the weight of the faggots.

A gust of anger seized him. This was how she was treated by the Harmans—made a beast of burden. He had not seen her for some time, and it seemed to him that her looks were fading. Her face was strangely white for a country girl's and her eyes seemed too big for it, and they smouldered as if they were eating it away like hot coals in snow.