young！ And the thread of his thoughts brokeand scattered like
beads from a string。
Leaning out； and resting his chin on his hands； he drew the night
air into his lungs。 Honeysuckle； or was it the scent of lilies
still？ The stars all out； and lots of owls to…nightfour at
least。 What would night be like without owls and stars？ But that
was ityou never could think what things would be like if they
weren't just what and where they were。 You never knew what was
coming； either； and yet； when it came； it seemed as if nothing else
ever could have come。 That was queer…you could do anything you
liked until you'd done it； but when you HAD done it； then you knew；
of course； that you must always have had to 。 。 。 What was that
light； below and to the left？ Whose room？ Old Tingle'sno； the
little spare roomSylvia's！ She must be awake； then！ He leaned
far out； and whispered in the voice she had said was still furry：
〃Sylvia！〃
The light flickered； he could just see her head appear； with hair
all loose； and her face turning up to him。 He could only half see；
half imagine it； mysterious； blurry； and he whispered：
〃Isn't this jolly？〃
The whisper travelled back：
〃Awfully。〃
〃Aren't you sleepy？〃
〃No； are you？〃
〃Not a bit。 D'you hear the owls？〃
〃Rather。〃
〃Doesn't it smell good？〃
〃Perfect。 Can you see me？〃
〃Only just； not too much。 Can you？〃
〃I can't see your nose。 Shall I get the candle？〃
〃Nothat'd spoil it。 What are you sitting on？〃
〃The window sill。〃
〃It doesn't twist your neck； does it？〃
〃Nooonly a little bit。〃
〃Are you hungry？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Wait half a shake。 I'll let down some chocolate in my big bath
towel； it'll swing along to youreach out。〃
A dim white arm reached out。
〃Catch！ I say； you won't get cold？〃
〃Rather not。〃
〃It's too jolly to sleep； isn't it？〃
〃Mark！〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Which star is yours？ Mine is the white one over the top branch of
the big sycamore； from here。〃
〃Mine is that twinkling red one over the summer house。 Sylvia！〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Catch！〃
〃Oh！ I couldn'twhat was it？〃
〃Nothing。〃
〃No； but what WAS it？〃
〃Only my star。 It's caught in your hair。〃
〃Oh！〃
〃Listen！〃
Silence； then； until her awed whisper：
〃What？〃
And his floating down； dying away：
〃CAVE！〃
What had stirredsome window opened？ Cautiously he spied along
the face of the dim house。 There was no light anywhere； nor any
shifting blur of white at her window below。 All was dark； remote
still sweet with the scent of something jolly。 And then he saw
what that something was。 All over the wall below his window white
jessamine was in flowerstars； not only in the sky。 Perhaps the
sky was really a field of white flowers； and God walked there； and
plucked the stars。 。 。 。
The next morning there was a letter on his plate when he came down
to breakfast。 He couldn't open it with Sylvia on one side of him；
and old Tingle on the other。 Then with a sort of anger he did open
it。 He need not have been afraid。 It was written so that anyone
might have read； it told of a climb； of bad weather； said they were
coming home。 Was he relieved； disturbed； pleased at their coming
back； or only uneasily ashamed？ She had not got his second letter
yet。 He could feel old Tingle looking round at him with those
queer sharp twinkling eyes of hers； and Sylvia regarding him quite
frankly。 And conscious that he was growing red； he said to
himself： 'I won't！' And did not。 In three days they would be at
Oxford。 Would they come on here at once？ Old Tingle was speaking。
He heard Sylvia answer： 〃No； I don't like 'bopsies。' They're so
hard！〃 It was their old name for high cheekbones。 Sylvia
certainly had none； her cheeks went softly up to her eyes。
〃Do you； Mark？〃
He said slowly：
〃On some people。〃
〃People who have them are strong…willed； aren't they？〃
Was SHEAnnastrong…willed？ It came to him that he did not know
at all what she was。
When breakfast was over and he had got away to his old greenhouse；
he had a strange； unhappy time。 He was a beast； he had not been
thinking of her half enough！ He took the letter out； and frowned
at it horribly。 Why could he not feel more？ What was the matter
with him？ Why was he such a brutenot to be thinking of her day
and night？ For long he stood； disconsolate； in the little dark
greenhouse among the images of his beasts； the letter in his hand。
He stole out presently； and got down to the river unobserved。
Comfortingthat crisp； gentle sound of water； ever so comforting
to sit on a stone； very still； and wait for things to happen round
you。 You lost yourself that way； just became branches； and stones；
and water； and birds； and sky。 You did not feel such a beast。
Gordy would never understand why he did not care for fishingone
thing trying to catch anotherinstead of watching and
understanding what things were。 You never got to the end of
looking into water； or grass or fern； always something queer and
new。 It was like that； too； with yourself； if you sat down and
looked properlymost awfully interesting to see things working in
your mind。
A soft rain had begun to fall； hissing gently on the leaves； but he
had still a boy's love of getting wet； and stayed where he was； on
the stone。 Some people saw fairies in woods and down in water； or
said they did； that did not seem to him much fun。 What was really
interesting was noticing that each thing was different from every
other thing； and what made it so； you must see that before you
could draw or model decently。 It was fascinating to see your
creatures coming out with shapes of their very own； they did that
without your understanding how。 But this vacation he was no good
couldn't draw or model a bit！
A jay had settled about forty yards away； and remained in full
view； attending to his many…coloured feathers。 Of all things；
birds were the most fascinating！ He watched it a long time； and
when it flew on； followed it over the high wall up into the park。
He heard the lunch…bell ring in the far distance； but did not go
in。 So long as he was out there in the soft rain with the birds
and trees and other creatures； he was free from that unhappy
feeling of the morning。 He did not go back till nearly seven；
properly wet through； and very hungry。
All through dinner he noticed that Sylvia seemed to be watching
him； as if wanting to ask him something。 She looked very soft in
her white frock； open at the neck； and her hair almost the colour
of special moonlight； so goldy…pale； and he wanted her to
understand that it wasn't a bit because of her that he had been out
alone all day。 After dinner； when they were getting the table
ready to play 'red nines；' he did murmur：
〃Did you sleep last nightafter？〃
She nodded fervently to that。
It was raining really hard now； swishing and dripping out in the
darkness； and he whispered：
〃Our stars would be drowned to…night。〃
〃Do you really think we have stars？〃
〃We might。 But mine's safe； of course； your hair IS jolly；
Sylvia。〃
She gazed at him； very sweet and surprised。
XIV
Anna did not receive the boy's letter in the Tyrol。 It followed
her to Oxford。 She was just going out when it came； and she took
it up with the mingled beatitude and almost sickening tremor that a
lover feels touching the loved one's letter。 She would not open it
in the street； but carried it all the way to the garden of a
certain College； and sat down to read it under the cedar…tree。
That little letter； so short； boyish； and dry； transported her
halfway to heaven。 She was to see him again at once； not to wait
weeks； with the fear that he would quite forget her！ Her husband
had said at breakfast that Oxford without 'the dear young clowns'
assuredly was charming； but Oxford 'full of tourists and other
strange bodies' as certainly was not。 Where should they go？ Thank
heaven； the letter could be shown him！ For all that； a little stab
of pain went through her that there was not one word which made it
unsuitable to show。 Still； she was happy。 Never had her favourite
College garden seemed so beautiful； with each tree and flower so
cared for； and the very wind excluded； never had the birds seemed
so tame and friendly。 The sun shone softly； even the clouds were
luminous and joyful。 She sat a long time； musing； and went back
forgetting all she had come out to do。 Having both courage and
decision； she did not leave the letter to burn a hole in her
corsets； but gave it to her husband at lunch； looking him in the
face； and saying carelessly：
〃Providence； you see； answers your question。〃
He read it； raised his eyebrows； smiled； and； without looking up；
murmured：
〃You wish to prosecute this romantic episode？〃
Did he mean anythingor was it simply his way of putting things？
〃I naturally want to be anywhere but here。〃
〃Perhaps you would like to go alone？〃
He said that； of course； knowing she could not say： Yes。 And she
answered simply： 〃No。〃
〃Then let us both goon Monday。 I will catch the young man's
trout； thou shalt catchh'm！he shall catch What is it he
catchestrees？ Good！ That's settled。〃
And； three days later； without another word exchanged on the
subject； they started。
Was she grateful to him？ No。 Afraid of him？ No。 Scornful of
him？ Not quite。 But she was afraid of HERSELF； horribly。 How
would she ever be able to keep herself in hand； how disguise from
these people that she loved their boy？ It was her desperate mood
that she feared。 But since she so much wanted all the best for him
that life could give； surely she would have the strength to do
nothing that might harm him。 Yet she was afraid。
He was there at the station to meet them； in riding things and a
nice rough Norfolk jacket that she did not recognize； though she
thought she knew his clothes by heart； and as the train came slowly
to a standstill the memory of her last moment with him； up in his
room amid the luggage that she had helped to pack； very nearly
overcame her。 It seemed so hard to have to meet him coldly；
formally； to have to waitwho knew how longfor a minute with him
alone！ And he was so polite； so beautif