After which they walked along in silence for some time. Each had said the last word of his own creed.
Presently they reached a footpath from which the house at Hoddon Grey could be reached. Newbury paused.
"Here, Coryston, we part—and we may never meet again."
He raised his heavy eyes to his companion. All passion had died from his face, which in its pale sorrow was more beautiful than Coryston had ever seen it.
"Do you think," he said, with deliberate gentleness, "that I feel nothing—that life can ever be the same for me again—after this? It has been to me a sign-post in the dark—written in letters of flame—and blood. It tells me where to go—and I obey."
He paused, looking, as it seemed, through Coryston, at things beyond. And Coryston was aware of a strange and sudden awe in himself which silenced him.
But Newbury recalled his thoughts. He spoke next in his ordinary tone.
"Please, tell—Marcia—that all arrangements have been made for Mr. Betts's boy, with the relatives' consent. She need have no anxiety about him. And all I have to say to her for her letter—her blessed letter—I will say to-night."
He walked away, and was soon lost to sight among the trees.