At nightfall, however, I was glad of her and she of me, and we walked hand in hand.

I narrated tales of Roman history.

It was very well for her so say, 'I'll mother you,' as we lay down to sleep; I discovered that she would never have hooted over churchyard graves in the night.

She confessed she believed the devil went about in the night.

Our bed was a cart under a shed, our bed-clothes fern-leaves and armfuls of straw.