THE wall was high and long. It was a grey, thick wall of heavy stone. In its expanse the little wooden alcove of the wicket-gate was scarcely an interruption.
The gate in the wall swung open, inwards. Through it there came a man and a woman. Their arms were linked; but not linked in the casual way of arm-linking; these arms strained each the other to its side.
There was a motor-car at the curb. Across the pavement to it they walked. The man was a great man, thick and tall, and yet he moved with a step light for all its present slowness. But big as he was, the woman’s head was not far below his. She, too, walked with a light step; but her gait had in it an oddness, an uncertainty which told of some emotion too great for speech.
They sat in the car. Slowly it moved away. The long wall of grey stone was lost in the dim land behind them. The head of the woman came to rest upon the man’s shoulder.
THE END