to the silent but great relief of the newly-married pair. And soon the
husband and wife had passed the last farm in the valley, and were
walking up a rough climbing path towards Sour Milk Ghyll, and Easedale
Tarn. The stream was full, and its many channels ran white and foaming
down the steep rock face, where it makes its chief leap to the valley.
The summer weather held, and every tree and fell-side stood bathed in a
warm haze, suffused with the declining light. All round, encircling
fells in a purple shadow; to the north and east, great slopes
appearing--Helvellyn, Grisedale, Fairfield. 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.