305 She smiled through the sudden tears that rushed to her eyes.
"I've never minded it like that, somehow, Tommy. It's never been as terrible to me as—as perhaps it should be. I've often thought that those dreadful minutes when it seemed as if—the end of everything had come for—for both of us—when Feathers was so brave—so wonderful! Washed everything mean, and small, and unforgiving, out of my heart—forever."
She looked up at the dark sky overhead where some little stars were twinkling palely.
Feathers had once told her that she was as far above him as the stars . . . she never looked at them now without thinking of him, and wondering if somewhere—he still thought of her.
It was she who had led him into temptation—she still had that to tell to Chris—if he cared to listen.
"To-morrow then," she said, and young Atkins echoed "To-morrow," as he sprinted off down the road, disappearing in a cloud of dust.
Marie waited at the gate till the last sound of the motor had died away in the distance, then she went slowly back to the house.
The voice of the river was still in her ears with its bitter memories, but there was a new look of contentment in her eyes as she turned for a moment at the door, and looked up at the stars.
"I'm going back, dear," she said in a whisper, as if there was someone very close to her in the dusky evening who could hear. "I'm going back, dear."