inside his gateway to wait for Lydia. He
judged that she had been going to Amabel's, and now, her thoughts thrown
out of focus by meeting him with Esther, she would give up her visit and
come home to be sad a little by herself. He was right. She came soon,
walking fast, after her habit, a determined figure. He had had time to
read her face before she drew its veil of proud composure, and he found
in it what he had expected: young sorrow, the anguish of the heart
stricken and with no acquired power of staunching its own wounds. When
she saw him her face hardly changed, except that the mournful eyes
sought his. Had Esther got power over him? the eyes asked, and not out
of jealousy, he believed. The little creature was like a cherishing
mother. If Esther had gained power she would fight it to the uttermost,
not to possess him but to save his intimate self. Esther might pursue it
into fastnesses, but it should be saved. To Jeff, in that instant of
meeting the questioning eyes, she seemed an amazing person, capable of
exacting a tremendous loyalty. He didn't feel like explaining to her
that Esther hadn't got him in the least. The clarity of understanding
between them was inexpressibly precious to him. He wouldn't break it by
muddling assertions.

"I've been to Amabel's," he said. "You were going there, too, weren't
you?"

Lydia's face relaxed and cleared a little. She looked relieved, perhaps
from the mere kindness of his voice.

"I didn't go," she said. "I didn't feel like it."

"No," said Jeff. "But now we're home again, both of us, and we're glad.
Couldn't we cut round this way and sit under the wall a little before
Anne sees us and makes us eat things?"

He took her hand, this time of intention to make her feel befriended in
the intimacy of their common home, and they skirted the fence and went
across the orchard to the bench by the brick wall. As they sat there and
Jeff gave back her little hand he suddenly heard quick breaths from her
and then a sob or two.

"Lydia," said he. "Lydia."

"I know it," said Lydia.

She sought out her handkerchief and seemed to attack her face with it,
she was so angry at the tears.

"You're not hurt," said Jeff. "Truly you're not hurt, Lydia. There's
been nothing to hurt you."

Soon her breath stopped catching, and she gave her eyes a final
desperate scrub. By that time Jeff had begun to talk about the land and
what he hoped to do with it next year. He meant at least to prune