“You’ll not have got much news from Netherhall latterly?”
Kit remarked her use of the negative form, but he said he had not got much news and he thought she pondered. Alison was quiet, and Tyson talked about the floods. At length Mrs. Tyson got up and Kit went to the window. The ash trees shook in the wind and big drops splashed on the grass but the rain had stopped.
“I’m sorry to go, but I must take the road,” he said.
“You had better get over fell in daylight,” Tyson agreed. “We’re plain folks, Mr. Carson, but if you’re lonesome at Netherhall, we’ll be glad to see ye back.”
Kit got his coat and Alison went with him to the door. When they reached the porch Kit stopped and looked about. Mist rolled across the moors and the hills melted in the dark. A cold wind tossed the ash branches, and he heard a flooded beck. All was bleak and daunting, but the cheerful firelight flickered about the kitchen. Kit admitted he was not keen to start, and when he looked at Alison he knew she knew. Yet he felt she was somehow remote and elusive; in Canada Alison was frank.
“In the dark the fell road’s awkward,” she remarked.
“You want me to push off?”
“I think you ought to go,” said Alison in a quiet, meaning voice.
Kit smiled, but the smile cost him much.
“Well, I’ve got to indulge you. When you stole away from Harper’s you showed me my proper road, and the road was straight. That’s all, my dear. Are you going back to Fairmead?”