They walked hand in hand where the path admitted--almost silent--passionately conscious of each other--and of the beauty round them.

Sometimes they stopped to gather a flower, or notice a bird; and then there would be a few words, with a meaning only for themselves.

And when they reached the tarn,--a magical shadowed mirror of brown and purple water,--they sat for long beside it, while the evening faded, and a breathless quiet came across the hills, stilling all their voices, even, one might have fancied, the voice of the hurrying stream itself.

At the back of Nelly's mind there was always the same inexorable counting of the hours; and in his a profound and sometimes remorseful pity for this gentle creature who had given herself to him, together with an immense gratitude.
The stars came out, and a light easterly wind sprang up, sending ripples across the tarn, and stirring last year's leaves among the new grass.

It had grown chilly, and Sarratt took Nelly's blue cloak from his arm and wrapped her in it--then in his arms, as she rested against him.
Presently he felt her hand drop languidly from his, and he knew that--not the walk, but the rush of those half-spoken thoughts which held them both, had brought exhaustion.
'Darling--we must go home!' He bent over her.
She rose feebly.
'Why am I so tired?
It's absurd.' 'Let me carry you a little.' 'You couldn't!' She smiled at him.
But he lifted her with ease--she was so small and slight, while in him a fresh wave of youth and strength had risen, with happiness, and the reaction of convalescence.