Nan pointed to the screen of trees beyond the kitchen-garden.
"There it is. You do see it."
"But properly!"
She led the way. His voice had trembled; a deep compassion softened hers. In a minute they were in the avenue. It was narrower even than he had thought. The trees in their autumn tatters still met above their heads. But it was a place of premature twilight, where faces were already hard to see. Figures are often more eloquent. He stood in front of her with his arms unconsciously flung wide, and she stood drooping just beyond his reach.
"Nan!"
His voice choked with doubt and apprehension.
"Yes! I suppose you may call me that," she said, sadly.
"Call you that? Call you Nan?" His arm flew round her at last, but the bright bowed head forbade a kiss. "My darling, what in the world has happened?"
An alien voice came from the hidden lips.