He shook his head.
“Not now—give me a little time to think, please. You must know that it’s all confused—I’ve been so ill and delirious. You mustn’t ask too much of a sick man’s memory,” he ended lamely, trying to smile as he turned at last and faced her.
She met his eyes and felt the full power of their love and their renunciation. Their message was so clear that it made her feel faint. She put her hand out involuntarily and caught at an intervening branch, steadying herself.
He started toward her.
“What is it? You’re ill!”
She shook her head, recovering herself with an effort. She knew that he was hiding from her something ruinous to her husband. There was a second in which she still struggled with herself; then a strange vicarious acceptance of guilt made her face burn. She had cloaked herself with the iniquity of Faunce, if iniquity it was, and she could no longer speak or act as a separate entity.
They began to descend the steep path again. This time the pebbles tumbled ahead of them in a little shower as they scrambled down. Diane tried to talk casually, not looking at Overton again.
“How is it you’re here, in this out-of-the-way place, so soon after your return?”
“My aunt, my mother’s only sister, is living over there. She’s nearly eighty, and she wanted to see me. I found her still in the black she’d worn for me for months. It’s a strange thing to return from the dead! I needed rest, too, just for a day or so.”
“You—look ill.”