Slowly they turned and walked along the ridge, their feet sinking into the short soft turf growing in patches of pale green among the mauve-grey and brown heather. The path led up to a summer house, a curious circular building crowning the apex of the hill, and so wide open to wind, rain, and view that only the deep-eaved roof afforded any shelter to those under it. It was there that Lingard, after a moment of hesitation, led the way. "Jane," he said, "let us come and sit down for a moment. I have something to ask you." And she followed him into the poor shelter the summer house afforded. It had stopped raining; the high wind reigned alone, victorious. The bench on which they sat down was heavily scored with the initials of generations of Redyford lovers; for the little round building had ever been a temple of innocent courtship, and in the spring and summer evenings never lacked couples sitting in silent, inarticulate happiness. Lingard's bare hand involuntarily rested on the dented figures, the interlaced initials.... Three weeks ago he would have prayed Jane's leave to add a J. and an H. to these rude scores, for three weeks ago he had been one of the great company of the world's lovers, understanding and sympathising with all the absurdities of love. And now--even now, though he knew himself for a traitor to the woman sitting silent by his side, he yet felt in a strange way that the link between them was eternal--that in no way could it be broken. Each, so he assured himself fiercely, had a call on the other. He was about to put this belief, this instinctive certainty, to the test. "As I said just now, I've something to ask you, Jane----" His words came haltingly; to his listener they sounded very cold. "Yes, Hew?" She looked round at him. He was staring at the ground as if something lay there he alone could see. "I asked you to come out with me to-night, because--because"--and then in a voice so low, so hoarse, that she had to bend forward to catch the words--"I want to ask you, to implore you, Jane--to marry me at once." "At once?" she repeated. "When do you mean by at once, Hew?" She also spoke in a still, low voice. They seemed to be hatching a conspiracy of which one, if not both, should feel ashamed. And more than ever it seemed to Jane Oglander as if another man, a stranger, had taken possession of Hew Lingard's shape. "I mean at once!" he answered harshly. "To-morrow--or the day after to-morrow. There's no necessity why we should ever go back to Rede Place! Why shouldn't we walk down to the station now, from here? We should be in London in an hour and a half. People have often done stranger things than that. We could send a message from the station to----" His voice wavered, his lips refused to form Mrs. Maule's name.