“Good-bye, Beloved.”
Again their eyes met. And he caught her to him. She felt his body shaking.
“Paul,” she whispered.
“Beloved.”
And then he took her to the door and held it open for her. She went out through the courtyard in the twilight of the summer evening.
And the little faun, holding his pipe to his lips, made no sound, for he knew at that moment no music however tender could bring comfort to her heart.
CHAPTER XXV
IN YORKSHIRE
AWAY in Yorkshire, on a fell-side, a woman was sitting on a grey stone and looking at the landscape before her.
Below her, some couple of hundred feet, ran a little brown stream, on the banks of which a man in tweed clothes was walking. He held a fishing-rod, and every now and then he paused to cast a fly upon the water with a light and dexterous hand.