'These firs are not taproots,' he observed, by way of apology.
Her dress volumed and her ribands rattled and chirruped on the verge of the slope. 'I will take your arm here,' she said.
Redworth received the little hand, saying: 'Lean to me.'
They descended upon great surges of wind piping and driving every light surface-atom as foam; and they blinked and shook; even the man was shaken. But their arms were interlinked and they grappled; the battering enemy made them one. It might mean nothing, or everything: to him it meant the sheer blissful instant.
At the foot of the hill, he said: 'It's harder to keep to, the terms of yesterday.'
'What were they?' said she, and took his breath more than the fury of the storm had done.
'Raise the veil, I beg.'
'Widows do not wear it.'
The look revealed to him was a fugitive of the wilds, no longer the glittering shooter of arrows.
'Have you...?' changed to me, was the signification understood. 'Can you?—for life'. Do you think you can?'