He walked beside her, his hand light on her bridle, and silently they made their way through the long grass, along the banks of the grey, wide flowing river, past the temple, and into the empty village streets. Only once did she speak to him, bending slightly towards him in her saddle.
"I have been wondering what your name is," she said, "your other name. I've been trying to fit you with one."
"Tristram," he said.
"Tristram Tristram?"
He nodded, and she repeated the name thoughtfully under her breath.
"That's a curious repetition——"
"Yes, my mother liked it. It's the only thing we've ever quarrelled about. I tell her she suffered from lack of imagination, and that she took a mean advantage over my helplessness. What could anybody expect of a Tristram Tristram?"
"And yet it suits you somehow."
"I'm not flattered," he answered laughing.
The magic sunlight had gone and the low thatched huts were grey and sordid in the rising tide of shadow. Here and there a golden patch lingered palely, and the council-tree at the cross-roads blazed in the full flood from the west.