"'Twill suit very well," she answered. "I want to meet Rhoda, and she'll be fetching back by the bridge afore long."
"You'll be hungry."
"No; I've got a bit of bread and cheese in my pocket. You can have half, if you mind to."
He shook his head.
"Can't eat to-day. 'Twill be a fast day in my life for evermore."
"Dear Hartley, I don't say much. Who can say anything to the purpose against such a loss? But I do feel for you."
"I know it, Madge. Nobody'll feel for me like you. Give me your hand. 'Tis a thought steep here; but it leads to the best road to the bottom."
He helped her down the crooked acclivities, and in half an hour they were at the bridge beneath.
Here Meavy opens her arms, and shutting them again, creates a little island. The waters join once more below and sing and foam under the ivy-mantled span of one grey arch. To-day naked boughs thrust up from the drooping red mat of the brake-fern, and the leaves of the willows were reduced to a mere yellow sparkle of yellow on the boughs. Only the greater furze laid a heavy green in great masses on the harmony of winter colours.
Bartley led the way by mossy stones beside a backwater where dead leaves danced.