Among her sobs, he heard her, at last, speaking to him. "Even Palgrave doesn't know. He told me--only this afternoon--that Barney was here. I thought I might find him. I was going to wait in the road. And when I got here there was no car and I was afraid that there was a mistake. That I had missed him. And I went up to the house; to the open window; and looked in; to see if he was there. It was not jealousy: not now. I did not mean to be an eavesdropper. But, when I saw them, I stayed and listened. It was not jealousy," she repeated. "It was because I had to know that there was no more hope."
"Yes," said Oldmeadow gently, while, with long pauses, she spoke on and on; to the impartial judge, to the one sure refuge; and he said "Yes" again, gently, after she had finished; a long time after. She still half lay against his breast. He had never felt such an infinite tenderness towards any creature; not since his boyhood and his mother's death.
She drew away from him at last. "Take me," she said. "There is a train; back to Oxford." She had ceased to weep. Her voice was hoarse and faint.
"Did you walk up from the station? You're not fit to walk back. I can get a trap. There's a man just across the green."
"No. Walking, please. I would be recognized. They might know me. I can walk. If you will help me."
He drew her arm through his. "Lean on me," he said. "We'll go slowly."
They went past the drawing-room windows and, softly opening, softly shutting, through the gate. The road, when it turned the corner, left the village behind; between its rarely placed trees, vague silhouettes against the sky that seemed of one texture with them, it showed its mournful pallor for only a little space before them; there was not enough light left in the sky to glimmer on its pools. The fields, on either side, vanished into obscurity. Pale cattle, once, over a hedge, put disconsolate heads and lowed and a garrulous dog, as they passed by, ran out from a way-side farm-yard, smelt at their heels, growled perfunctorily and, having satisfied his sense of duty, went back to his post. The sense of dumb emptiness was so complete that it was only after they had gone a long way that he knew that she was weeping and the soft, stifling sounds seemed only a part of nature's desolation.