But she lay still, without recoil. Even when he had finished, she did not rouse herself to get a grip on her own satisfaction, as she had done with Michaelis; she lay still, and the tears slowly filled and ran from her eyes.

He lay still, too. But he held her close and tried to cover her poor naked legs with his legs, to keep them warm. He lay on her with a close, undoubting warmth.

‘Are yer cold?’ he asked, in a soft, small voice, as if she were close, so close. Whereas she was left out, distant.

‘No! But I must go,’ she said gently.

He sighed, held her closer, then relaxed to rest again.

He had not guessed her tears. He thought she was there with him.

‘I must go,’ she repeated.

He lifted himself kneeled beside her a moment, kissed the inner side of her thighs, then drew down her skirts, buttoning his own clothes unthinking, not even turning aside, in the faint, faint light from the lantern.

‘Tha mun come ter th’ cottage one time,’ he said, looking down at her with a warm, sure, easy face.

But she lay there inert, and was gazing up at him thinking: Stranger! Stranger! She even resented him a little.

He put on his coat and looked for his hat, which had fallen, then he slung on his gun.

‘Come then!’ he said, looking down at her with those warm, peaceful sort of eyes.

She rose slowly. She didn’t want to go. She also rather resented staying. He helped her with her thin waterproof and saw she was tidy.

Then he opened the door. The outside was quite dark. The faithful dog under the porch stood up with pleasure seeing him. The drizzle of rain drifted greyly past upon the darkness. It was quite dark.

‘Ah mun ta’e th’ lantern,’ he said. ‘The’ll be nob’dy.’

He walked just before her in the narrow path, swinging the hurricane lamp low, revealing the wet grass, the black shiny tree–roots like snakes, wan flowers. For the rest, all was grey rain–mist and complete darkness.

‘Tha mun come to the cottage one time,’ he said, ‘shall ta? We might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.’

It puzzled her, his queer, persistent wanting her, when there was nothing between them, when he never really spoke to her, and in spite of herself she resented the dialect. His ‘tha mun come’ seemed not addressed to her, but some common woman. She recognized the foxglove leaves of the riding and knew, more or less, where they were.

‘It’s quarter past seven,’ he said, ‘you’ll do it.’ He had changed his voice, seemed to feel her distance. As they turned the last bend in the riding towards the hazel wall and the gate, he blew out the light. ‘We’ll see from here,’ be said, taking her gently by the arm.

But it was difficult, the earth under their feet was a mystery, but he felt his way by tread: he was used to it. At the gate he gave her his electric torch. ‘It’s a bit lighter in the park,’ he said; ‘but take it for fear you get off th’ path.’