There was no doubtful ring in this; Annabel felt the chords of her
being smitten to music. She held her hand to him.

'You are my very near friend, and my life is richer for your
influence.'

'I may come and see you again before very long, when I have
something to tell you?'

'You know that our house always welcomes you.'

He released her hand, and they walked homewards. The sky was again
overcast. A fresh gust came from the fell-side and bore with it
drops of rain.

'We must hasten,' Annabel said, in a changed voice. 'Look at that
magnificent cloud by the sun!'

'Isn't the rain sweet here?' she continued, anxious to re-establish
the quiet, natural tone between them. 'I like the perfume and the
taste of it. I remember how mournful the rain used to be in London
streets.'

They regained the house. Annabel passed quickly upstairs. Egremont
remained standing in the porch, looking forth upon the garden. His
reverie was broken by a voice.

'How gloomy the rain is here! One doesn't mind it in London; there's
always something to do and somewhere to go.'