With the last of the herd past, the driver was already opening the stage door. The woman’s husband rose, stooping.
'If you’ll allow me, I’ll get out first with these.'
He took the satchels and got out of the 'bus, heavily.
He turned to assist the woman. She did not give him her hand at once. The Franciscan drew back a little to let her pass. She paused the fraction of a moment and gave her hand to him.
'Good-bye.'
When she was beside the large man on the road, he also offered his hand to the Franciscan.
'Thank you; thank you very much indeed.'
He turned. 'Guess that’s our surrey over there, Louise.' The darkey driver of the surrey hurried toward him. 'Yes; take these.'
The woman followed him. She did not look back. He assisted her into the surrey and followed, himself, his weight bending it heavily to one side as he entered.
I saw them drive away, along a broad cross-road into the lovely rolling country, her brown veil floating a little, unknown to her, but like a living thing, with a little wild waving of its folds. The Franciscan I saw follow a road in another direction. The curve of it soon hid him. I did not see him again.