They did not go out together till the last evening. Then he came to tea and stayed to supper, and in the interval they went into the lane just as the dusk came stealing up the sky. Thyrza had objected at first.
“We closed early yesterday, and folk ull be vexed if they find us shut this evenun too.”
“Folk be hemmed! This is my last evenun, and I’m going to taake you where we can’t hear that tedious liddle bell of yourn.”
“Doan’t miscall my bell, fur it rings when you come to see me. In the old days when it rang, I used to say to myself, ’Is that Tom?’ and look through the winder, hoping....”
“Thyrza, did you love me then?”
“Reckon I did. But I doan’t know as I ever thought much about it, fur I maade sure as at the raate you wur going it ud be a dunnamany years afore you started courting praaperly.”
“I’m glad I didn’t wait, surelye. Oh, liddle creature, you can’t know wot this week’s bin to me. I’ll go out to France feeling ... feeling ... I can’t tell you wot I feel, but it’s as if I wur leaving part of myself behind, and that the part I left behind wur helping and backing up the part out there ... it sounds unaccountable silly when I say it, but it’s wot I’ve got in my heart.”
They were in the big pasture meadow near Little Worge, sitting by the willow-pond which lay cupped against the lane. It was the first and the last landmark in Sunday Street—the thick scummed water with the grey trees dipping their leaves in its stillness. To-day a soft wind rustled in them, blowing from the west, and scarcely louder than the wind throbbed the distant guns, the beating of that racked far-off heart whose terrible secrets Tom was soon to know. Thyrza shuffled against his side as they sat on the grass.
“Oh, Tom—hear the guns? It’s tar’ble to think of you out there.”
“I’ll come back, surelye.”