Handshut still leaned on the sill, and she realised that if his words were decorous, his attitude was not. Surely he had something better to do than hang in at her window. Half his face was in shadow, half was reddened by the smouldering skyit was the face of a young gipsy, brown, sullen, and mocking. She suddenly pulled herself into a sitting posture.
Wells paused a moment, and then addedThe roads outside Rye were dark with people. A procession was forming up at Rye Foreign, and another at the foot of Cadborough Hill. Outside the railway station a massed band played something rather like the Marseillaise, while the grass-grown, brine-smelling streets were spotted with stragglers, hurrying up from[Pg 308] all quarters, some carrying torches that flung shifting gleams on windows and gable-ends.
ONE:Tilly had a spurt of anger."You did; and do you not recognize me, as he who gave the alarm when the fellows had peeped above the wall at the cross-roads, and whose hat was pierced by an arrow as he stood beneath the tree that overshadowed the grave at Hailes?"
She gave him the cream bowl. Their hands accidentally touched; she pulled hers away, and the bowl fell and was broken.She moved down to the gate and leaned over it, while her eyes roved the twilight unseeing. The voice on the Moor swelled clearer. It was a man's voice, low-pitched and musical: