were feeding on the desolate flats. The cliff rose high above Paul and
Clara on their right hand. They stood against the tree in the watery
silence.

"Let us try going forward," he said; and they struggled in the red
clay along the groove a man's nailed boots had made. They were hot and
flushed. Their barkled shoes hung heavy on their steps. At last they
found the broken path. It was littered with rubble from the water, but
at any rate it was easier. They cleaned their boots with twigs. His
heart was beating thick and fast.

Suddenly, coming on to the little level, he saw two figures of men
standing silent at the water's edge. His heart leaped. They were
fishing. He turned and put his hand up warningly to Clara. She
hesitated, buttoned her coat. The two went on together.

The fishermen turned curiously to watch the two intruders on their
privacy and solitude. They had had a fire, but it was nearly out. All
kept perfectly still. The men turned again to their fishing, stood
over the grey glinting river like statues. Clara went with bowed head,
flushing; he was laughing to himself. Directly they passed out of sight
behind the willows.

"Now they ought to be drowned," said Paul softly.

Clara did not answer. They toiled forward along a tiny path on the
river's lip. Suddenly it vanished. The bank was sheer red solid clay
in front of them, sloping straight into the river. He stood and cursed
beneath his breath, setting his teeth.

"It's impossible!" said Clara.

He stood erect, looking round. Just ahead were two islets in the stream,
covered with osiers. But they were unattainable. The cliff came down
like a sloping wall from far above their heads. Behind, not far back,
were the fishermen. Across the river the distant cattle fed silently
in the desolate afternoon. He cursed again deeply under his breath. He
gazed up the great steep bank. Was there no hope but to scale back to
the public path?

"Stop a minute," he said, and, digging his heels sideways into the steep
bank of red clay, he began nimbly to mount. He looked across at every
tree-foot. At last he found what he wanted. Two beech-trees side by side
on the hill held a little level on the upper face between their roots.
It was littered with damp leaves, but it would do. The fishermen were
perhaps sufficiently out of sight. He threw down his rainproof and waved
to her to come.

She toiled to his side. Arriving there, she looked at him heavily,
dumbly, and lai