They passed in silence out of the starlit garden on to a pale grey road. The hedgerows on either side loomed up out of the darkness, blacker than night. A lane led down to the village, leaving the road on the left. It was the shortest path. As Lyveden started to turn, Valerie laid a hand on his arm.
"Not that way," she said unsteadily. "It was our last walk together—Joe's and mine."
Then she burst into tears.
In a flash the barrier that had stood between them was done away.
Anthony put his arm about her instinctively. She caught at his shabby lapel and clung to it, sobbing piteously. They must have stood so for five minutes or more.
When she was better, they walked on slowly, Anthony talking as naturally as if she had been his sister. All his constraint was gone.
"Don't I know how you feel? Oh, my dear, I'm so grieved for you. I know, I know…. Everything you do, every way you turn, calls up some piteous memory. But it'll pass, dear, very soon…. Time's very merciful…."
They came to the sleeping village and the door of the house where she was to pass the night.
"Sleep well," said Anthony, and put her hand to his lips.
Valerie dared not speak. For a second she hesitated, inarticulate.
Then she leaned over and set her cheek against his.