“Shall I come with you, Sally?” asked Philip.

“Don’t you trouble.  I’m not afraid to go alone.”

“I didn’t think you were; but it’s getting near my bedtime, and I was just thinking I’d like to stretch my legs.”

Sally did not answer, and they set out together.  The road was white and silent.  There was not a sound in the summer night.  They did not speak much.

“It’s quite hot even now, isn’t it?” said Philip.

“I think it’s wonderful for the time of year.”

But their silence did not seem awkward.  They found it was pleasant to walk side by side and felt no need of words.  Suddenly at a stile in the hedgerow they heard a low murmur of voices, and in the darkness they saw the outline of two people.  They were sitting very close to one another and did not move as Philip and Sally passed.

“I wonder who that was,” said Sally.

“They looked happy enough, didn’t they?”

“I expect they took us for lovers too.”

They saw the light of the cottage in front of them, and in a minute went into the little shop.  The glare dazzled them for a moment.

“You are late,” said Mrs. Black.  “I was just going to shut up.”  She looked at the clock.  “Getting on for nine.”

Sally asked for her half pound of tea (Mrs. Athelny could never bring herself to buy more than half a pound at a time), and they set off up the road again.  Now and then some beast of the night made a short, sharp sound, but it seemed only to make the silence more marked.

“I believe if you stood still you could hear the sea,” said Sally.

They strained their ears, and their fancy presented them with a faint sound of little waves lapping up against the shingle.  When they passed the stile again the lovers were still there, but now they were not speaking; they were in one another’s arms, and the man’s lips were pressed against the girl’s.

“They seem busy,” said Sally.

They turned a corner, and a breath of warm wind beat for a moment against their faces.  The earth gave forth its freshness.  There was something strange in the tremulous night, and something, you knew not what, seemed to be waiting; the silence was on a sudden pregnant with meaning.  Philip had a queer feeling in his heart, it seemed very full, it seemed to melt (the hackneyed phrases expressed precisely the curious sensation), he felt happy and anxious and expectant.  To his memory came back those lines in which Jessica and Lorenzo murmur melodious words to one another, capping each other’s utterance; but passion shines bright and clear through the conceits that amuse them.  He did not know what there was in the air that made his senses so strangely alert; it seemed to him that he was pure soul to enjoy the scents and the sounds and the savours of the earth.  He had never felt such an exquisite capacity for beauty.  He was afraid that Sally by speaking would break the spell, but she said never a word, and he wanted to hear the sound of her voice.  Its low richness was the voice of the country night itself.