She grew pensive and drew away from me.

I stepped towards the door, but a hand laid on my arm arrested me.
"Simon," she asked, "have you sweet memories of Hatchstead ?" "God forgive me," said I confusedly, "sweeter than my hopes of heaven." She looked at me gravely for an instant.

Then, sighing, she said, "Then I wish you had not come to town, but stayed there with your memories.

They were of me ?" "Of Cydaria." "Ah, of Cydaria," she echoed, with a little smile.
But a moment later the full merriment of laughter broke out again on her face, and, drawing her hand away, she let me go, crying after me, "But you shall not forget, Simon.

No, you shall not forget." There I left her, standing in the doorway of the inn, daring me to forget.