When we came to the fringe of the sycamore park and passed alongside the cypress trees, one first-storey window showed light in the northern wall of the House, and we could see radiance from others down the long façade.
“Miss Mertoun has returned.” It was the only speech either of us had offered in two dark and desolate miles.
“Millicent?” The American girl halted in surprise. “Did they make her go out, too?”
“She volunteered like the rest of the ladies for searching in the Vale itself.”
“Darling Millicent. I love her better than anything else on earth. She shouldn’t have tried to find me, Mr. Bannerlee. She isn’t strong, you know, and this has been a terrible, tragic week for her. She should never have come to Aidenn Vale, but I didn’t—understand then, as I do now.”
Somehow we did not go straight on, but lingered there by the cypresses with their low-hung darkness.
“But her week has not been as tragic as yours.”
Her voice was sombre. “More, much more.”
“What!” I came closer, peered into her face, where the dusk had erected shadows. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t wondered, I see, about Millicent and Sean.”