The Roman skeletons are in safe keeping.
Betty Flanders's darning needles are safe too and her garnet brooch.

And sometimes at midday, in the sunshine, the moor seems to hoard these little treasures, like a nurse.

But at midnight when no one speaks or gallops, and the thorn tree is perfectly still, it would be foolish to vex the moor with questions--what?
and why?
The church clock, however, strikes twelve..