"How long?"

"Mrs. Grantham expects me back in an hour at latest. Father and
Patty will be arriving before supper, and there are the children to
be put to bed."

"Let us go up the canal, then. I have a surprise for you."

They took hands--both her hands in his, their arms held crosswise to
their bodies--and struck out, stroke for stroke. By the third stroke
they were swinging forward in perfect rhythm, each onrush held long
and level on the outside edge and curving only as it slackened.
The air began to sing by Hetty's temples; her skates kept a humming
tune with her lover's. The back of his hand rested warm against her
bosom.

"You skate divinely."

She scarcely heard. The world slipped past and behind her with the
racing trees: she was a bird mated and flying into the sunset.
Ah, here was bliss! Awhile ago she had been faint with love, as
though a cord were being tightened around her heart: it had been hard
for her to speak, hard even to draw breath. Now her lungs opened,
the cord snapped and broke with a sob; and, as the sun's rim dipped,
she flew faster, urgent to overtake and hold it there, to stay its
red glint between the reed-beds, its bloom of brown and purple on the
withered grasses. The wind of her skirt caught up the dead leaves
freshly scattered on the ice and swept them along with her, whirling,
like a train of birds. But, race as she would, the sun sank and the
shadow of the world crept higher behind her shoulder. The last gleam