He spat upon the ground, picked up his axe, rested one foot upon the axe-block and one arm upon his knee. Orianda sat down upon a pile of the logs.
“This is how it is ... be you married?”
“Come and sit here, Gerald,” called the girl. As he came forward Orianda rose and said: “This is my very dear friend, father, Gerald Loughlin. He has been so kind. It is he who has given me the courage to come back. I wanted to for so long. O, a long time, father, a long time. And yet Gerald had to drag me here in the end.”
“What was you afraid of, my girl?” asked the big man.
“Myself.”
The two visitors sat upon the logs. “Shall I tell you about mother?” asked the girl.
Crabbe hesitated; looked at the ground.
“Ah, yes, you might,” he said.
“She died, did you know?”
The man looked up at the trees with their myriads of unmoving leaves; each leaf seemed to be listening.