bland moon.

Joe had dropped his head and did not answer. Miss Stokes stood with her
arm lightly round his waist. Albert bowed, saluted, and bade good-night.
He walked away, leaving the two standing.

Miss Stokes put a light pressure on Joe's waist, and drew him down the
road. They walked in silence. The night was full of scent--wild cherry,
the first bluebells. Still they walked in silence. A nightingale was
singing. They approached nearer and nearer, till they stood close by his
dark bush. The powerful notes sounded from the cover, almost like flashes
of light--then the interval of silence--then the moaning notes, almost
like a dog faintly howling, followed by the long, rich trill, and
flashing notes. Then a short silence again.

Miss Stokes turned at last to Joe. She looked up at him, and in the
moonlight he saw her faintly smiling. He felt maddened, but helpless. Her
arm was round his waist, she drew him closely to her with a soft pressure
that made all his bones rotten.

Meanwhile Albert was waiting at home. He put on his overcoat, for the
fire was out, and he had had malarial fever. He looked fitfully at the
_Daily Mirror_ and the _Daily Sketch_, but he saw nothing. It seemed a
long time. He began to yawn widely, even to nod. At last Joe came in.

Albert looked at him keenly. The young man's brow was black, his face
sullen.

'All right, boy?' asked Albert.