Bitter-Sweet

Slowly they climbed the incline, the pony slipping and stumbling as the sand crumbled away from under his feet.

"It is a hard pull for the poor old thing," said Philippa penitently; "I ought not to have come this way."

"We'll give him a rest when we get to the top. It won't hurt him, but it makes me feel as if I ought to get out and walk."

"You ought to do no such thing," she retorted quickly. "The very idea is preposterous."

Francis laughed at her vehemence. "You need not think that you are going to pamper me like this for the rest of my life. We shall be taking long walks together, you and I, very soon. Oh, it is a joy to be alive on such a day as this. Look at that rabbit scuttling away up the lane. It reminds me----" He stopped and hesitated "I can't remember--but I seem to---- Oh, drive on, Phil. Yes,"--he spoke excitedly,--"it is coming back to me now--that tree and that gate."

They had reached the top of the hill where the lane ended at the edge of the moor. There was a crooked oak-tree standing on the right at the junction of two banks which divided some cultivated land from the heath, and under the tree was a gate, broken from its hinges and lying half upon the ground.