“I should like to walk, I think.”
She stepped out, aided by his hand, a strong hand, and warm about her icy fingers. Her knees were weak, and he 111 set her elbow in the hollow of his arm and guided her. They walked like the blind leading the blind through a sea of pitch. The only glimmer was the little scratches of light pinked in the dead sky by a few stars.
“‘It’s beautiful overhead, if you’re going that way,’” Davidge quoted.
He set out briskly, but Marie Louise hung back timidly.
“Not so fast! I can’t see a thing.”
“That’s the best time to keep moving.”
“But aren’t you afraid to push on when you can’t see where you’re going?” she demanded.
“Who can ever tell where he’s going? The sunlight is no guaranty. We’re all bats in the daytime and not cats at night. The main thing is to sail on and on and on.”
She caught a little of his recklessness––suffered him to hurry her to and fro through the inky air till she was panting for breath and tired. Then they groped to the rail and peered vainly down at the brook, which, like an unbroken child, was heard and not seen. They leaned their elbows on the rail and stared into the muffling gloom.
“I think I’ll have another of your cigarettes,” he said.