to be talking with you at all. "Quits!" And here I
am, an outcast from decent society. Ah, you don't know--'

She bent her head and laughed under her breath. 'You do really stumble
on such delicious compliments. And yet, do you know, I think my brother
would be immensely pleased to think you were an outcast from decent
society if only he could be thought one too. He has been trying half his
life to wither decent society with neglect and disdain--but it doesn't
take the least notice. The deaf adder, you know. Besides, besides; what
is all this meek talk? I detest meek talk--gods or men. Surely in the
first and last resort all we are is ourselves. Something has happened;
you are jangled, shaken. But to us, believe me, you are simply one of
fewer friends-and I think, after struggling up Widderstone Lane hand in
hand with you in the dark, I have a right to say "friends" than I could
count on one hand. What are we all if we only realized it? We talk of
dignity and propriety, and we are like so many children playing
with knucklebones in a giant's scullery. Come along, he will, some
suppertime, for us, each in turn--and how many even will so much as look
up from their play to wave us good-bye? that's what I mean--the plot
of silence we are all in. If only I had my brother's lucidity, how much
better I would have said all this. It is only, believe me, that I want
ever so much to help you, if I may--even at risk, too,' she added,
rather shakily, 'of having that help--well--I know it's little good.'

The lane had narrowed. They had climbed the arch of a narrow stone
bridge that spanned the smooth dark Widder. A few late starlings were
winging far above them. Darkness was coming on apace. They stood for
awhile looking down into the black flowing water, with here and there
the mild silver of a star dim leagues below. 'I am afraid,' said
Grisel, looking quietly up, 'you have led me into talking most pitiless
nonsense. How many hours, I wonder, did I lie awake in the dark last
night, thinking of you? Honestly, I shall never, NEVER forget that walk.
It haunted me, on and on.'

'Thinking of me? Do you really mean that? Then it was not all
imagination; it wasn't just the drowning man clutching at a straw?'

The grey eyes questioned him. 'You see,' he explained in a whisper, as
if afraid of being overheard, 'it--it came back again, and--I don't mind
a bit how much you laugh at me! I had been asleep, and had had a most
awful dream, one