Thomasine was upon the bridge no longer. She had been joined by Will Pugsley, who had lost sight of his new sweetheart, as they had managed to drift apart in the crowd, and were not likely to meet again. She had probably been picked up by some one and would be perfectly happy with her new partner. Thomasine went off with young Pugsley, and it was only in the natural order of things that she should meet Pendoggat at last, not alone, but accompanied by Annie Crocker. It was unfortunate for Thomasine that she should have Pugsley's arm round her waist, although it was not her fault, as he had placed it there, and she supposed her waist had been made for that sort of thing. It was impossible to tell whether Pendoggat had seen her, as he never looked at any one. It was not a happy holiday for Thomasine, although she did go home between Pugsley and another drunken man, a young friend of his, who ought to have made her feel common, had she been capable of self-examination. It was at the bridge that Peter and Mary went wrong. They ought to have crossed it, only they were so confused they hardly knew what they were doing. It was another bridge of sighs. Lovers, who had probably met for the first time that day, were embracing upon it; and a couple of young soldiers were outraging the clear water of the Tavy by being sick over the parapet. Peter and Mary stumbled on, found themselves in darkness and a lonely road, and soon began to wonder what had become of the town and the station. They had no idea they were walking straight away from Tavistock in the direction of Yelverton. "Here us be!" cried Mary at length. "A lot o' gals in white dresses biding for the train. Us be in time." "There be hundreds and millions of 'em," said Peter sleepily. The road was very dark, but they could see a low wall, and upon the other side what appeared to be a host of dim white figures waiting patiently. They went up to a building and found an iron gate, but the gate was locked, and the house was in darkness. It looked as if the last train had gone, and the station was closed for the night. "Us mun climb the wall," said Mary. She began to shout at the girls in the white dresses: "Open the gate, some of ye. Open the gate." There was no reply from the white figures; only the murmuring of the river, and a dreary rustling of dry autumnal foliage. Peter rubbed his eyes and stared, and put his little peg-nose over the wall. "It bain't the station," he muttered, with a violent belch. "It be a gentleman's garden." "Aw, Peter, don't ye be so vulish. It be vull o' volks biding to go home." They climbed the wall, far too sleepy and intoxicated to know they were in the cemetery; and finding themselves upon soft grass they went to sleep, using the mound of a young girl's grave for their bolster, adding their drunken slumbers to the heavier sleep of those who Mary thought were "biding to go home."