Durrance must continue to believe that she brought more than
friendship into the marriage account.
He stood at the very entrance to the enclosure; he advanced into it. He
was so quick to guess, it was not wise that he should meet Captain
Willoughby or even know of his coming. Ethne looked about her for an
escape, knowing very well that she would look in vain. The creek was in
front of them, and three walls of high thick hedge girt them in behind
and at the sides. There was but one entrance to this enclosure, and
Durrance himself barred the path to it.
"Keep still," she said in a whisper. "You know him?"
"Of course. We were together for three years at Suakin. I heard that he
had gone blind. I am glad to know that it is not true." This he said,
noticing the freedom of Durrance's gait.
"Speak lower," returned Ethne. "It is true. He _is_ blind."
"One would never have thought it. Consolations seem so futile. What can
I say to him?"
"Say nothing!"
Durrance was still standing just within the enclosure, and, as it
seemed, looking straight towards the two people seated on the bench.
"Ethne," he said, rather than called; and the quiet unquestioning voice
made the illusion that he saw extraordinarily complete.
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