But of thought there was no need, for the gardens
of villas and the inn blocked the river at all but one spot. Winton
stopped the car where the narrow lane branched down to the bank, and
jumping out, ran. By instinct he ran silently on the grass edge, and
Markey, imitating, ran behind. When he came in sight of a black shape
lying on the bank, he suffered a moment of intense agony, for he thought
it was just a dark garment thrown away. Then he saw it move, and,
holding up his hand for Markey to stand still, walked on alone,
tiptoeing in the grass, his heart swelling with a sort of rapture.
Stealthily moving round between that prostrate figure and the water, he
knelt down and said, as best he could, for the husk in his throat:
"My darling!"
Gyp raised her head and stared at him. Her white face, with eyes
unnaturally dark and large, and hair falling all over it, was strange to
him--the face of grief itself, stripped of the wrappings of form. And he
knew not what to do, how to help or comfort, how to save. He could see
so clearly in her eyes the look of a wild animal at the moment of its
capture, and instinct made him say:
"I lost her just as cruelly, Gyp."
He saw the words reach her brain, and that wild look waver. Stretching
out his arm, he drew her close to him till her cheek was against his,
her shaking body against him, and kept murmuring:
"For my sake, Gyp; for my sake!"
When, with Markey's aid, he had got her to the cab, they took her,
not back to the house, but to the inn.
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