But he knew not where to go or what to say. He saw Minks
standing with Jane Anne again by the fourneau, picking at his ear. By
the open window with Mother stood the little visitor. She was leaving
to-morrow. A torturing pain like twisting knives went through him. The
universe was going out!... He saw the starry sky behind her. Daddy
went up and joined them, and he was aware that the three of them
talked all at once for what seemed an interminable time, though all he
heard was his cousin's voice repeating at intervals, 'But you _can't_
send a telegram before eight o'clock to-morrow morning in any case;
the post is closed....'
And then, suddenly, the puzzle reeled and danced before his eyes. It
dissolved into a new and startling shape that brought him to his
senses with a shock. There had been a swift shuffling of the figures.
Minks and his cousin were helping her into her cloak. She _was_ going.
One of them--he knew not which--was offering politely to escort her
through the village.
It sounded like his own sentence of exile, almost of death. Was he
forty years of age, or only fifteen? He felt awkward, tongue-tied,
terrified.
They were already in the passage. Mother had opened the door into the
yard.
'But your way home lies down the hill,' he heard the silver voice,
'and to go with me you must come up.
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