He looked across at every
tree-foot. At last he found what he wanted. Two beech-trees side by side
on the hill held a little level on the upper face between their roots.
It was littered with damp leaves, but it would do. The fishermen were
perhaps sufficiently out of sight. He threw down his rainproof and waved
to her to come.
She toiled to his side. Arriving there, she looked at him heavily,
dumbly, and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her fast as he looked
round. They were safe enough from all but the small, lonely cows over
the river. He sunk his mouth on her throat, where he felt her heavy
pulse beat under his lips. Everything was perfectly still. There was
nothing in the afternoon but themselves.
When she arose, he, looking on the ground all the time, saw suddenly
sprinkled on the black wet beech-roots many scarlet carnation petals,
like splashed drops of blood; and red, small splashes fell from her
bosom, streaming down her dress to her feet.
"Your flowers are smashed," he said.
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