he liked had kissed the maid whom he loved;
and there walked the maid, at this moment with her back to him, going up
the central path that was bordered with box. The February sun shone on
her as she went, on her hooded head, her dark cloak and her blue dress
beneath. He watched her go up, and drew back a little as she turned, so
that she might not see him watching; and as she came down again he saw
that she held a string of beads in her fingers and was making her
devotions. She was a good girl.... That, at least, was a satisfaction.

Then he turned from the window again.

"Well?" said his wife.

"I suppose it must be as she says."

III

It was an hour before sunset when Marjorie came out again into the
walled garden that had become for her now a kind of sanctuary, and in
her hand she carried a letter, sealed and inscribed. On the outside the
following words were written:

"To Mr. Robin Audrey. At Matstead.

"Haste, haste, haste."

Within, the sheet was covered from top to bottom with the neat
convent-hand she had learnt from the nuns. The most of it does not
concern us. It began with such words as you would expect from a maid to
her lover; it continued to inform him that her parents were willing,
and, indeed, desirous, that he should come to them for Easter, and that
her father would write a formal letter later to invite him; it was to be
written from Derby, (this conspirator informed the other), that it might
cause less comment when Mr. Audrey saw it, and was to be expressed in
terms that would satisfy him. Finally, it closed as it had begun, and
was subscribed by his "loving friend, M. M." One paragraph, however, is
worth attention.

"I have told my father and mother, that we love one another, my Robin;
and that you have asked me to marry you, and that I have consented
should you wish to do so when the time comes. They have consented most
willingly; and so Jesu have you in His keeping, and guide your mind
aright."

It was this paragraph that had cost her half of the hour occupied in
writing; for it must be expressed just so and no otherwise; and its
wording had cost her agony lest on the one side she should tell him too
much, and, on the other, too little. And her agony was not yet over; for
she had to face its sending, and the thought of all that it might cost
her. She was to give it to one of the men who was to leave early for
Derby next morning and was to deliver it at Matstead on the road; so she