She slipped from the horse-block and stood beside him.
"Which way?" she said.
"To the Broad Beck, but not under the trees. I want the sun."
They followed the grassy track and struck across the new green of the bracken to the stream that rioted among the rocks, teasing itself into foam, lashing itself into waterfalls, or lying in still pools. By one of these, on a broad slab of stone, Theresa and Alexander halted. The sun struck on the water and on them; it gilded the purple of Theresa's gown until it was illuminated like a missal; it found the lurking red in Alexander's hair, it turned hers to flame, and to each one it showed the suffering of the other.
"Theresa," he said, "the sun is shining. You said you would tell me in the sunshine, but if you cannot I will wait."
"No, I must tell you, because I said so, and because you must not blame yourself." She held her hands behind her back, twisting them there, and she looked up at him, frowning a little, with a rare appeal in her unflinching eyes.
"He always wanted us to meet," she said. "I believe he did this so that we might meet."
"And we had met."
"But then, I did not tell him."
"Why did you not?"