"Yes," he panted, and started off down the steep lane, between the high flint-walls embedded in nettles, at a shuffling trot regardless of the little lady following at his heels.
In the silence she gave him of her strength.
In the Brooks he paused and mooned helplessly across at the river and the hills squandered in the sunshine beyond and the cattle who mooned back.
"This is it," said Mrs. Lewknor in her cool confident voice. "This yellow-washed one, the man said."
"Yes," grunted Edward, once again relieved, and trotted off to the little cottage on the bank beside the willows.
He went up the steps and knocked.
Mrs. Lewknor loitered down to the stream.
Ruth opened. Her visitor glanced at her through dim spectacles; and strength came to him.
"Are you Ruth?" he asked.
The young woman's face lit up.