We had left the village behind by this time. We were on the bit of road before you reach the bridge, and the Castle was in front of us. Often in the evening, when the twilight has gathered, and the air is heavy with dew, and with a faint sweet smell of newly cut hay, I live that moment over again. I see Cuthbert's face turned towards me, pale and eager, in the half-darkness. I see the white road, and the moon just rising solemn and fiery red over the Castle. I feel the silence, except that the familiar rush of falling water, unheard for months, was beginning to sound in my ears again.
I never crossed the bridge afterwards, by night or day, and came within ear-shot of the waterfall, without hearing Cuthbert's voice say 'Hildred.'
For the next few minutes I don't know what he said. The dusty road—I noticed even then how dusty it was—seemed to rise up before my face. I put out my hand to hold by Cuthbert's arm. He thought that, being still lame, I was tired, and meant to lean on him, and he drew my arm over his shoulder, supporting me as we climbed up the grassy hill that was the short cut to the ruins. Presently I knew that he was saying—'It is hard for her.'
'Does Hildred know you have enlisted?'
'Yes, yes, poor child. I told her, and then, when it was too late, I found out how much I loved her.'
'Does she care for you?'
'Yes,' he answered very softly. 'Yes indeed, thank God.'
'But oh, Willie, you will take care of her for me. Don't let her forget me. I trust her to you entirely. Promise me you will be good to her. Watch over her for me.'
The tears were in his eyes. He was going away. It might be that I should never see him again. This was no time to think of my shattered hopes, my ruined life.
'If I could do any good,' I began to say. He interrupted me. 'You can—you can. It is everything to me. Let me think she has somebody near her who will be kind to her—who will comfort her if she is unhappy—who will never let them make her give me up.'