They sat hand in hand on the bench by the duck pond until the shadows
began to lengthen along the valley of the Sharrow. For quite a long
time they didn't speak, but at last their reverie was broken by the
sight of a dusty figure with a sack on its back shambling along the
road towards them. It was the village postman.
"Who's bought the cottage opposite?" the Corporal asked.
"Zur?" said the postman.
The Corporal repeated his question.
"They do sey, zur," said the postman in slow, impressive Doric, "the
Mayor o' Blackhampton has bought it."
"What--Alderman Munt?" The voice of the Corporal was full of dismay.
"The Mayor o' Blackhampton, zur. Come here the other day in a motey car
to look at it. Large big genelman in a white hat."
The heart of the Corporal sank. What the hell had he, of all people,
to go buying it for! Somehow the postman had shattered the queer sad
little world in which they sat. A feeling of desperation came suddenly
upon the Corporal. He rose abruptly from the bench. "Come on, Mother,"
he said, "if we don't get along we'll be late for supper."
"Don't want no supper, Bill."
But the Corporal was firm.
"I'd like to stop here all night," Melia said as she rose limply from
the bench. "I'd like to stop here forever."
That was the desire uppermost in the Corporal also, but it would not do
to admit it.
Down the road, hand in hand, like two children out late, they trudged
in the gathering dusk to Corfield. It was a perfect evening. Just a
little ahead was one faint star; over to the left in the noble line of
woods that overlooked the river they could hear the nightingale. Once
they stopped and held their breaths to listen. They saw the rabbits
dart from among the ferns at their feet and run before them along the
white road. The evening pressed ever closer upon them as they marched
slowly on, until, at a turn in the road, Corfield with its fruit
orchards came into view.
It was a long trek home but they were in no hurry to get there. By the
time they had come to the old stone bridge which spanned the broad
river and united the country with the town it was quite dark and the
lamps of the city were shining in the distance.
Midway across the bridge they stopped to take one last look at the
Sharrow gleaming down its valley. Since the afternoon this mighty
symbol which from earliest childhood had dominated their every
recollection seemed to have gained in power, in magic and in mystery.