She went past him down the steps without a word, and he followed her through the garden.

“Anne—­” he said.

Under the blackness of the yew hedge she turned to him, and their hands met.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said.  “Next week I’ll take you away somewhere till it’s over.”

“Where?”

“Oh, somewhere a long way off, where you’ll be happy.”

Somewhere a long way off, beyond this pain, beyond this day and this night, their joy waited.

“And Maisie?” she said.

“Maisie wants you to be happy.”

He held her by the hand as he used to hold her when they were children, to keep her safe.  And hand in hand, like children, they went down through the twilight of the fields, together.