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... I am absurdly sensitive, but if there _is_
anything that I have done, please let me apologise for it. I want you to
tell me."
Anything that he had done? The Archdeacon smiled grimly to himself in the
dusk.
"I really don't think, Canon, that talking things over will help us. There
is really nothing to discuss.... Good-night."
The green cloud was gone. Ronder, invisible now, remained in the shadow of
the great door.

II
Beside the river, above the mill, a woman's body was black against the
gold-crested water. She leaned over the little bridge, her body strong,
confident in its physical strength, her hands clasped, her eyes
meditative.
No need for secrecy to-night. Her father was in Drymouth for two days.
Quarter to five. The chimes struck out clear across the town. Hearing them
she looked back and saw the sky a flood of red behind the Cathedral. She
longed for Falk to-night, a new longing. He was better than she had
supposed, far, far better. A good boy, tender and warm-hearted. To be
trusted. Her friend. At first he had stood to her only for a means of
freedom.


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