“But you are happier since your letter came?”
“No,” he said. The simple word fell on her heart, and she forbore.
They went on again in silence until they arrived at a place from which they saw the gleam of the river and the line of the hills beyond. Advena stopped.
“We came here once before together—in the spring. Do you remember?” she asked.
“I remember very well.” She had turned, and he with her. They stood together with darkness about them, through which they could just see each other’s faces.
“It was spring then, and I went back alone. You are still living up that street? Good night, then, please. I wish again—to go back—alone.”
He looked at her for an instant in dumb bewilderment, though her words were simple enough. Then as she made a step away from him he caught her hand.
“Advena,” he faltered, “what has happened to us? This time I cannot let you.”