Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/121

 was firm. And on this, his last evening, he spoke only of trivial things to Marie-Ursule, as they sat presently over the tea—a mild and flavourless beverage— which the young girl had prepared. Yet he noticed later, after their early supper, when she strolled up with him to the hill overlooking the village, a certain new shyness in her manner, a shadow, half timid, half expectant in her clear eyes which permitted him to believe that she was partly prepared. When they reached the summit, stood clear of the pine trees by an ancient stone Calvary, Ploumariel lay below them, very fair in the light of the setting sun; and they stopped to rest themselves, to admire.

"Ploumariel is very beautiful," said Campion after a while. "Ah! Marie-Ursule, you are fortunate to be here."

"Yes." She accepted his statement simply, then suddenly: "You should not go away." He smiled, his eyes turning from the village in the valley to rest upon her face: after all, she was the daintiest picture, and Ploumariel with its tall slate roofs, its sleeping houses, her appropriate frame.

"I shall come back, I shall come back," he murmured. She had gathered a bunch of ruddy heather as they walked, and her fingers played with it now nervously. Campion stretched out his hand for it. She gave it him without a word.

"I will take it with me to London," he said; "I will have Morbihan in my rooms."

"It will remind you—make you think of us sometimes?"

For answer he could only touch her hand lightly with his lips. "Do you think that was necessary?" And they resumed their homeward way silently, although to both of them the air seemed heavy with unspoken words.