“I presume you wished to come away?” he said at the end of their journey, before he opened the heavy doors.
She nodded.
Then he laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“The Serpent must be very cruel and hardened if he withstand such a prayer as that you offered.”
There was more amusement than pity in his voice and expression. Rosalie felt, but did not understand it. Never had anyone in her narrow life been able to put so much expression into a mere hand-touch. In gratitude she could have taken and kissed it many times.
They passed out on to the high steps leading from the temple. The rain was coming down in torrents. The street lamps glistened through it, and the passers-by were infrequent.
“How are you going home?” he said. The outside world seemed to have separated them.
She pointed to her feet.
“Walking? Well, hurry and don’t get wet. It would be a pity to spoil the prayer by leaving no time for its fulfilment. Good-night!”
Then he moved away a step or two, and she stopped to put up her umbrella. Suddenly, however, he turned round, and came with quick strides toward her.