The Cathedral by Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"Miss Brandon. Just a moment. I want to speak to you. Lovely evening, isn't it?...You cut me the other day. Yes, you did. In Orange Street."

"Why?"

She tried to speak coldly.

"We're friends. You know we are. Only in this beastly town no one can be free.... I only want to tell you if I go away--suddenly--I'm coming back. Mind that. You're not to believe anything they say--anything that any one says. I'm coming back. Remember that. We're friends. You must trust me. Do you hear?"

And he was gone, striding off towards the Cathedral, Andrew panting at his heels.

The light was gone too--going, going, gone.

She stayed for a moment. As she reached her door the wind rose, sifting through the grass, rising to her chin.

IV

The two figures met, unconsciously, without spoken arrangement, pushed towards one another by destiny, as they had been meeting now continuously during the last weeks.

Almost always at this hour; almost always at this place. On the sandy path in the green hollow below the Cathedral, above the stream, the hollow under the opposite hill, the hill where the field was, the field where they had the Fair.

Down into this green depth the sunset could not strike, and the chimes, telling over so slowly and so sweetly the three-quarters, filtered down like a memory, a reiteration of an old promise, a melody almost forgotten. But above her head the woman, looking up, could see the rose change to orange and could watch the cloud, like a pool of green water, extend and rest, lying like a sheet of glass behind which the orange gleamed.

They met always thus, she coming from the town as though turning upwards through the tangled path to her home in the Precincts, he sauntering slowly, his hands behind his back, as though he had been wandering there to think out some problem....

Sometimes he did not come, sometimes she could not. They never stayed more than ten minutes there together. No one from month to month at that hour crossed that desolate path.

To-day he began impetuously. "If you hadn't come to-night, I think I would have gone to find you. I had to see you. No, I had nothing to say. Only to see you. But I am so lonely in that house. I always knew I was lonely-- never more than when I was married--but now.... If I hadn't these ten minutes most days I'd die, I think...."

They didn't touch one another, but stood opposite gazing, face into face.

"What are we to do?" he said. "It can't be wicked just to meet like this and to talk a little."

"I'd like you to know," she answered, "that you and my son--you are all I have in the world. The two of you. And my son has some secret from me.

"I have been so lonely too. But I don't feel lonely any more. Your friendship for me...."

"Yes, I am your friend. Think of me like that. Your friend from the first moment I saw you--you so quiet and gentle and unhappy. I realized your unhappiness instantly. No one else in this place seemed to notice it. I believe God meant us to be friends, meant me to bring you happiness--a little...."