"Where is she gone?"

She nodded with her head to the window. He went to it and looked out.

* * * * *

It was the little walled garden on which he looked, in which, if he had
but known it, the lad whom he liked had kissed the maid whom he loved;
and there walked the maid, at this moment with her back to him, going up
the central path that was bordered with box. The February sun shone on
her as she went, on her hooded head, her dark cloak and her blue dress
beneath. He watched her go up, and drew back a little as she turned, so
that she might not see him watching; and as she came down again he saw
that she held a string of beads in her fingers and was making her
devotions. She was a good girl.... That, at least, was a satisfaction.

Then he turned from the window again.

"Well?" said his wife.

"I suppose it must be as she says."


III

It was an hour before sunset when Marjorie came out again into the
walled garden that had become for her now a kind of sanctuary, and in
her hand she carried a letter, sealed and inscribed. On the outside the
following words were written: