She rose slowly, reluctantly, and then pretended to exert her strength in lifting him up from his knees. "The curé stayed away on purpose," she said.
"Yes. For he meant this to happen—just as it has."
Mary smiled, half closing her eyes, so that the world swam before her in a radiant mist. She was less afraid of love and the man who gave and took it, now. Already it seemed that Vanno and she had always been lovers, not sad, parted lovers, but happy playmates in a world made for them. There could not have been a time when they did not understand each other. Everything before this day had been a dream. "Do you know," she said, "why I came here—I mean, why the curé asked me? He told me that I must come and 'save' you. As if I could! It was I who needed saving."
"'It was Fate brought you—to give you to me. Do you regret it?'"
"He knew," Vanno answered, speaking more to himself than to her, "that we should save each other."
As he spoke, a foot ostentatiously rattled the gravel of the path, at a safe distance. The curé coughed, and coughed again. A serious catching in the throat he seemed to have, for a man who lived in the fresh air and laughed at the notion of a "sunset chill."
Vanno took Mary's hand and kept it in his as he led her out of the arbour.
"This is what your blessing has done, Father," he said.