“I remember, too,” she said, “a little black-and-white kitten that followed me. Mater would not have it in—she would not. And I remember finding it, a few days after, dead in the road. I don’t think I ever quite forgave my mater that.”
“More sorrow over one kitten brought to destruction than over all the sufferings of men,” he said.
She glanced at him and laughed. He was smiling ironically.
“For the latter, you see,” she replied, “I am not responsible.”
As they neared the top of the hill a few spots of rain fell.
“You know,” said Helena, “if it begins it will continue all night. Look at that!”
She pointed to the great dark reservoir of cloud ahead.
“Had we better go back?” he asked.
“Well, we will go on and find a thick tree; then we can shelter till we see how it turns out. We are not far from the cars here.”
They walked on and on. The raindrops fell more thickly, then thinned away.
“It is exactly a year to-day,” she said, as they walked on the round shoulder of the down with an oak-wood on the left hand. “Exactly!”
“What anniversary is it, then?” he inquired.
“Exactly a year to-day, Siegmund and I walked here by the day, Thursday. We went through the larch-wood. Have you ever been through the larch-wood?”
“No.”
“We will go, then,” she said.
