Neither of them noticed the weather or cared for it.

They stood with the renewed blackness hanging like a thick drapery between them.
"Can--can you--tell me why you think you ought not to go ?" he whispered, finally, with a great effort.
"No; not now.

But I know you would think I am right in wanting to stay," she cried, impulsively.

"I know you would, if you knew about it--but I can't, I can't.

I must go in the morning." "I should always think you right," he answered in an unsteady tone, "Always!" He went over to the bench, fumbled about for his hat, and picked it up.
"Come," he said, gently, "I am going now." She stood quite motionless for a full minute or longer; then, without a word, she moved toward the house.