CHAPTER I

AFTER THREE YEARS Alaric wished to be alone. It was the third anniversary of his mating-day, and he wanted to think things over. A cold wind was blowing along the valley, but he did not mind that. He climbed the hill behind his little home, and lay down on the grass, looking southwards to the Essex ridge. The gentle curves of the uplands, the green of the slopes, the old houses in the village to his right, even the not inharmonious block of the distant milk-factory, all looked peaceful enough. Alaric, however, felt…