“He doesn’t feel anything,” they said to her, when Martin gasped and struggled—­“but don’t stay if you’d rather not.”

“I’d rather stay,” said Joanna, “he may know me.  Martin ...” she called to him.  “Martin—­I’m here—­I’m Jo—­” but it was like calling to someone who is already far away down a long road.

There was a faint sweet smell of oil in the room—­Father Lawrence had administered the last rites of Holy Church.  His romance and Martin’s had met at his brother’s death-bed ...  “Go forth, Christian soul, from this world, in the Name of God—­in the name of the Angels and Archangels—­in the name of the Patriarchs, Prophets, Apostles, Evangelists, Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins, and of all the Saints of God; let thine habitation to-day be in peace and thine abode in Holy Sion” ...  “Martin, it’s only me, it’s only Jo” ...  Thus the two voices mingled, and he heard neither.

The cold morning lit up the window square, and the window rattled with the breeze of Rye Bay.  Joanna felt someone take her hand and lead her towards the door.  “He’s all right now,” said Lawrence’s voice—­“it’s over ...”

Somebody was giving her a glass of wine—­she was sitting in the dining-room, staring unmoved at Nell Raddish’s guilt revealed in a breakfast-table laid over night.  Lawrence and Sir Harry were both with her, being kind to her, forgetting their own grief in trying to comfort her.  But Joanna only wanted to go home.  Suddenly she felt lonely and scared in this fine house, with its thick carpets and mahogany and silver—­now that Martin was not here to befriend her in it.  She did not belong—­she was an outsider, she wanted to go away.

She asked for the trap, and they tried to persuade her to stay and have some breakfast, but she repeated doggedly, “I want to go.”  Lawrence went and fetched the trap round, for the men were not about yet.  The morning had not really come—­only the cold twilight, empty and howling with wind, with a great drifting sky of fading stars.

Lawrence went with her to the door, and kissed her—­“Good-bye, dear Jo.  Father or I will come and see you soon.”  She was surprised at the kiss, for he had never kissed her before, though the Squire had taken full advantage of their relationship—­she had supposed it wasn’t right for Jesoots.

She did not know what she said to him—­probably nothing.  There was a terrible silence in her heart.  She heard Smiler’s hoofs upon the road—­clop, clop, clop.  But they did not break the silence within ... oh, Martin, Martin, put your hand under my arm, against my heart—­maybe that’ll stop it aching.