Their paths met at a little turnstile in a fence. Their paths met there, and they met there.
For a moment, they looked at each other. Then their eyes went forward through the next field. There were no longer two paths before them. In the next field, there was but one. Either they must now go forward together, or one of them must fall behind forever.
So they clasped hands and passed through the stile.
The field disappeared. The girl stood beside him, her right hand in his right hand, her eyes turned up to his. Her eyes were deep, his were lost in them.
A voice spoke, resonantly, in measured words. He heard his own voice; then the girl’s.
Suddenly he recognized the girl. She was Anne; she was his wife....
IV
They went forward singing, for a little way. Their hands were lightly clasped. The girl skipped and danced beside him; and though he walked sedately, his heart sang and danced with hers.
Then he felt a damp chill in the air, and Anne drew closer to his side, and she no longer danced.
At first he did not understand; but when he looked about them, and then up into the skies, he saw the misty Cloud, The Threat....