If aught could lighten the gloom of my sorrow, surely it is that." They stepped along in silence until they came to the end of the avenue, and turned.

It was no idle silence: the silence of two beings who have naught to say.

It was a grave, portentous silence, occasioned by the unutterable much in the mind of one, and by the other's apprehension of it.

At last she spoke, to ask him what he meant to do.
"I shall return to France," he said.

"It had perhaps been better had I never crossed to England." "I cannot think so," she said, simply, frankly and with no touch of a coquetry that had been harshly at discord with time and place.
He shot her a swift, sidelong glance; then stopped, and turned.