He looked at his watch.
"I must go back to my father," he said, for the first time breaking the silence.
"You shall do no such thing!" I cried.

"Stay out here and I will see to the Major, and give him the letter too if you like." He caught at the suggestion, and as he thanked me I think there were tears in his eyes.

So I took the letter and set off for Ben Rhydding, leaving him to get what relief he could from solitude, space, and absolute quiet.

Once I just glanced back, and somehow the scene has always lingered in my memory--the great stretch of desolate moor, the dull crimson of the heather, the lowering grey clouds, the Hunting Tower a patch of deeper gloom against the gloomy sky, and Derrick's figure prostrate, on the turf, the face hidden, the hands grasping at the sprigs of heather growing near.
The Major was just ready to be helped into the garden when I reached the hotel.

We sat down in the very same place where Derrick had read the news, and, when I judged it politic, I suddenly remembered with apologies the letter that had been entrusted to me.