house, of
the silence in the lane, and the gliding of their own shadows along the
wall. What was this in his face, his thoughts, that she could not reach!
And she cried out:

"Tell me! Oh, tell me, Derek! I can go through anything with you!"

"I can't get rid of him, that's all. I thought he'd go when I'd seen him
there. But it's no good!"

Terror got hold of her then. She peered at his face--very white and
haggard. There seemed no blood in it. They were going down-hill now,
along the blank wall of a factory; there was the river in front, with
the moonlight on it and boats drawn up along the bank. From a chimney a
scroll of black smoke was flung out across the sky, and a lighted bridge
glowed above the water. They turned away from that, passing below the
dark pile of the cathedral. Here couples still lingered on benches along
the river-bank, happy in the warm night, under the August moon! And on
and on they walked in that strange, miserable silence, past all those
benches and couples, out on the river-path by the fields, where the
scent of hay-stacks, and the freshness from the early stubbles and the
grasses webbed with dew, overpowered the faint reek of the river mud.
And still on and on in the moonlight that haunted through the willows.
At their footsteps the water-rats scuttled down into the water with tiny
splashes; a dog barked somewhere a long way off; a train whistled; a
frog croaked. From the stubbles and second crops of sun-baked clover
puffs of warm air kept stealing up into the chillier air beneath the
willows. Such moonlit nights never seem to sleep. And there was a kind
of triumph in the night's smile, as though it knew that it ruled the
river and the fields, ruled with its gleams the silent trees that had
given up all rustling. Suddenly Derek said:

"He's walking with us! Look! Over there!"

And for a second there did seem to Nedda a dim, gray shape moving square
and dogged, parallel with them at the stubble edges. Gasping out:

"Oh, no; don't frighten me! I can't bear it tonight!" She hid her face
against his shoulder like a child. He put his arm round her and she
pressed her face deep into his coat. This ghost of Bob Tryst holding him
away from her! This enemy! This uncanny presence! She pressed closer,
closer, and put her face up to his. It was wonderfully lonely, silent,
whispering, with the moongleams slipping through the willow boughs into
the shadow where they stood. And from his arms warmth s