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He turned away and strode down the hill, crook and pitchfork on shoulder. Robbins made no effort to detain him, but stood watching the receding figure in a dazed way till it disappeared at the angle of the lane. Then he walked back slowly to the enclosure where the sheep were still feeding and stood for a moment or two looking at them according to his custom, but without noticing them.

“I be mazed,” he said to himself; “I be fair mazed.”

Gradually he woke to the consciousness that his limbs were trembling under him, and his head dizzy, and leaving the sheep pen he entered the hut and sat down on the solitary chair which it contained. In one corner, curled up on an old coat that Robbins sometimes put on when the nights were exceptionally cold, lay his dog, which, on his master’s entrance, opened its eyes without raising its head and wagged its tail in welcome. The keen yellow eyes remained fixed on Robbins’ face, and after a time the tail ceased wagging, and the dog stiffly rose, shook itself, and pattered across the floor to the shepherd’s feet. Finding still no return, it laid its head upon Abel’s knee, looking up into his face with such a world of dumb questioning anguish that it at length elicited a response. Robbins stretched out his hand, which still shook oddly, and patted the tawny head,