The rain fell with a heavy "Hush!" on the trees.

At last they gained the cartshed.
"Let us stay here awhile," he said.
There was a sound of rain everywhere, smothering everything.
"I feel so strange and still," he said; "along with everything." "Ay," she answered patiently.
He seemed again unaware of her, though he held her hand close.
"To be rid of our individuality, which is our will, which is our effort--to live effortless, a kind of curious sleep--that is very beautiful, I think; that is our after-life--our immortality." "Yes ?" "Yes--and very beautiful to have." "You don't usually say that." "No." In a while they went indoors.

Everybody looked at them curiously.

He still kept the quiet, heavy look in his eyes, the stillness in his voice.

Instinctively, they all left him alone.
About this time Miriam's grandmother, who lived in a tiny cottage in Woodlinton, fell ill, and the girl was sent to keep house.