"Who is it?" she asked.
"Donald," said I. "He's one of the great masters of the pipes. I believe
in the tale of Amphion and the walls of Thebes now, for this afternoon I
saw Donald pipe some broken-down wagons out of the road."
I went across to see to the change of picket, and when I got back into
the hut I saw that the tension was over. I relit my pipe, sat down again
at her side, and started a rapid series of questions as to what she had
seen and heard during the retreat. Try how I would, nay, try as we would,
we did not get back to our old footing. We were afraid of silences, and
skipped from topic to topic at breakneck speed. We two who had sauntered
together in the sunlight, now stumbled along in a mist.
At last she said she must be going, and I went out and shouted to Donald
to get Bimbo and the calash ready, and four men as an escort. When I got
back to her, she arose, somewhat wearily, and I put the domino on fully
and fitted the hood round her head.
"You see I've gone back to the domino, Oliver," she said.
"It's the very thing for a cold night and a dirty road," I replied
cheerfully, stepping in front of her, a couple of paces off, to take my
last look at her in the light.
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