It was as she returned across the fields that she saw a man leaving the house. He stood for an instant just outside the door, gave a quick glance up and down the lane, and hurried up the valley. She began to run. The man turned sharply to his left, making for a grassy track that skirted the larch wood. She followed, realizing the sterling value of policemen. He went fast, with long, easy strides, and as she noticed the manner of his walking, she was sure this was no common thief. He was a free man by the look of him, fearing nobody. His head, his back—she crushed down a cry, and as, with her eyes still on that back, she would have swung round to retrace her way, she stumbled against a stone, and it was he who turned.
She had not fallen, but her hand was at her throat, her attitude was one of fear, and he ran down the slope. He saw a pale and slightly freckled face under a crown of heavy, burnished hair. He knew the face very well, but it had grown thinner, he perceived, and the photographs did not show the golden freckles, nor the colour of her hair. She was a little breathless, but her lips were tightly closed, and he was acutely aware of the physical control she exercised: there was no sound, the hand at her throat hardly rose or fell. Her eyes, wide at first, narrowed a little, and her lips quivered into a smile.
"I thought you were a thief—so I ran." She made as if she would wave him onwards. "I will pretend I haven't seen you."
He looked beyond her. "I ought to have gone out by the back."
"Yes, you were very careless." But as she spoke she knew why he had chosen the dangerous and longer way. She, too, had rejoiced in the great blue wall that barred the kitchen passage, but rather than explain her understanding, she endured the cool distance of the stare that told her plainly she was alien and unwelcome. But, as she looked at him, returning his gaze with one of frank, unguarded interest, she decided that she did not mind his rudeness, that, indeed, she rather liked the unconsciousness of it, and, without warning, she laughed aloud, and checked against her sides the friendly impulse of her hands.
He condescended to smile, too, under his drawn brows.
"Well—good-bye," she said.
"Good-bye."
Neither moved: each looked over the other's shoulder; Theresa, upwards at the swell of green hills against the sky, and Alexander down at the quiet valley and his home, with Abraham sitting before the kitchen door.
"Where are the others?"