She walked on，listening.And then she noticed a narrow track between young fir-trees，a track that seemed to lead nowhere.But she felt it had been used.She turned down it adventurously，between the thick young firs，which gave way soon to the old oak wood.She followed the track，and the hammering grew nearer，in the silence of the windy wood，for trees make a silence even in their noise of wind.
She saw a secret little clearing，and a secret little hot made of rustic poles.And she had never been here before！She realized it was the quiet place where the growing pheasants were reared；the keeper in his shirt-sleeves was kneeling，hammering.The dog trotted forward with a short，sharp bark，and the keeper lifted his face suddenly and saw her.He had a startled look in his eyes.
He straightened himself and saluted，watching her in silence，as she came forward with weakening limbs.He resented the intrusion；he cherished his solitude as his only and last ******* in life.
'I wondered what the hammering was，'she said，feeling weak and breathless，and a little afraid of him，as he looked so straight at her.
'Ah'm gettin'th'coops ready for th'young bods，'he said，in broad vernacular.
She did not know what to say，and she felt weak.'I should like to sit down a bit，'she said.
'Come and sit 'ere i'th''ut，'he said，going in front of her to the hut，pushing aside some timber and stuff，and drawing out a rustic chair，made of hazel sticks.
'Am Ah t'light yer a little fire？'he asked，with the curious na?vetéof the dialect.
'Oh，don't bother，'she replied.
But he looked at her hands；they were rather blue.So he quickly took some larch twigs to the little brick fire-place in the corner，and in a moment the yellow flame was running up the chimney.He made a place by the brick hearth.
'Sit 'ere then a bit，and warm yer，'he said.
She obeyed him.He had that curious kind of protective authority she obeyed at once.So she sat and warmed her hands at the blaze，and dropped logs on the fire，whilst outside he was hammering again.She did not really want to sit，poked in a corner by the fire；she would rather have watched from the door，but she was being looked after，so she had to submit.
The hut was quite cosy，panelled with unvarnished deal，having a little rustic table and stool beside her chair，and a carpenter's bench，then a big box，tools，new boards，nails；and many things hung from pegs：axe，hatchet，traps，things in sacks，his coat.It had no window，the light came in through the open door.It was a jumble，but also it was a sort of little sanctuary.
She listened to the tapping of the man's hammer；it was not so happy.
He was oppressed.Here was a trespass on his privacy，and a dangerous one！
A woman！He had reached the point where all he wanted on earth was to be alone.And yet he was powerless to preserve his privacy；he was a hired man，and these people were his masters.
Especially he did not want to come into contact with a woman again.
He feared it；for he had a big wound from old contacts.He felt if he could not be alone，and if he could not be left alone，he would die.His recoil away from the outer world was complete；his last refuge was this wood；to hide himself there！
Connie grew warm by the fire，which she had made too big：then she grew hot.She went and sat on the stool in the doorway，watching the man at work.He seemed not to notice her，but he knew.Yet he worked on，as if absorbedly，and his brown dog sat on her tail near him，and surveyed the untrustworthy world.
Slender，quiet and quick，the man finished the coop he was ******，turned it over，tried the sliding door，then set it aside.Then he rose，went for an old coop，and took it to the chopping log where he was working.
Crouching，he tried the bars；some broke in his hands；he began to draw the nails.Then he turned the coop over and deliberated，and he gave absolutely no sign of awareness of the woman's presence.
So Connie watched him fixedly.And the same solitary aloneness she had seen in him naked，she now saw in him clothed：solitary，and intent，like an animal that works alone，but also brooding，like a soul that recoils away，away from all human contact.Silently，patiently，he was recoiling away from her even now.It was the stillness，and the timeless sort of patience，in a man impatient and passionate，that touched Connie's womb.
She saw it in his bent head，the quick quiet hands，the crouching of his slender，sensitive loins；something patient and withdrawn.She felt his experience had been deeper and wider than her own；much deeper and wider，and perhaps more deadly.And this relieved her of herself；she felt almost irresponsible.
So she sat in the doorway of the hut in a dream，utterly unaware of time and of particular circumstances.She was so drifted away that he glanced up at her quickly，and saw the utterly still，waiting look on her face.
To him it was a look of waiting.And a little thin tongue of fire suddenly flickered in his loins，at the root of his back，and he groaned in spirit.
He dreaded with a repulsion almost of death，any further close human contact.
He wished above all things she would go away，and leave him to his own privacy.He dreaded her will，her female will，and her modern female insistency.
And above all he dreaded her cool，upper-class impudence of having her own way.For after all he was only a hired man.He hated her presence there.
Connie came to herself with sudden uneasiness.She rose.The afternoon was turning to evening，yet she could not go away.She went over to the man，who stood up at attention，his worn face stiff and blank，his eyes watching her.
'It is so nice here，so restful，'she said.'I have never been here before.'
'No？'
'I think I shall come and sit here sometimes.
'Yes？'
'Do you lock the hut when you're not here？'
'Yes，your Ladyship.'
'Do you think I could have a key too，so that I could sit here sometimes？
Are there two keys？'
'Not as Ah know on，ther'isna.'
He had lapsed into the vernacular.Connie hesitated；he was putting up an opposition.Was it his hut，after all？
