Jane suddenly pinched Henry very hard, put her lips quite close to his ear, and breathed:
“Some one’s coming.”
As she spoke Henry drew her noiselessly back a yard or two. The faint glow which Jane had seen brightened until it seemed dazzling. The arched entrance to the tunnel in which they stood became sharply defined. The light struck the opposite wall, showing it rough and black, with patches of dull green slime.
Instantly Jane felt that her finger-tips would never be clean again. As the thought shuddered through her mind the light went by. That’s what it looked like, the passing of a light. Raymond’s dark figure hardly showed behind it. The lighted archway faded. The darkness spread an even surface over everything again.
Jane laid her face against Henry’s sleeve, pressed quite close to him, and said in a little voice that trembled:
“Oh, they haven’t made it up—they haven’t. He’d have come with her if they had.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Of course he’d have come with her. You wouldn’t have let me go by myself, you know you wouldn’t. No, they haven’t made it up, they can’t have, and—oh, Henry, why do people quarrel like that? You won’t with me, will you—ever? I mean that dreadful world-without-end sort. I couldn’t bear it. You won’t, will you?”
Jane was shaking all over. Henry put his arms round her very tight, laid his cheek against hers, and said:
“Not much! It’s a mug’s game.”