Part 65 (1/2)

He spoke. 'Did you find many more suitable stones?'

She shook her head, then rose to her feet.

He found it difficult not to stretch out his arms and draw her to him.

'Why is this called Burton's Clough, I wonder? It seems altogether too wide and shallow for a clough.'

'I didn't know it was,' said the girl.

'The map says it is. At least I think this is the place. Shall we go? Lead me to the magic spring.'

She smiled at him. 'Why do you call it thatV 'I'm sure it is magic. It must be.'

'It's just clear water,' said the girl, 'and very, very deep.' Happily, the track was still wide enough for them to walk side by side, though Stephen realized that, further on, where he had not been, this might cease to be the case.

'How long are you staying here?' asked the girl.

'Perhaps for another fortnight. It depends.'

'Are you married? '

'I was married, Nell, but my wife unfortunately died.' It seemed unnecessary to put any date to it, and calculated only to cause stress.

'I'm sorry,' said the girl.

'She was a wonderful woman and a very good wife.'

To that the girl said nothing. What could she say?

'I am taking a period of leave from the civil service,' Stephen volunteered. 'Nothing very glamorous.'

'What's the civil service? ' asked the girl.

'You ought to know that,' said Stephen in mock reproof: more or less mock. After all, she was not a child, or not exactly. All the same, he produced a childlike explanation. 'The civil service is what looks after the country. The country would hardly carry on without us. Not nowadays. Nothing would run properly.'

'Really not?'

'No. Not run properly.' With her it was practicable to be lightly profane.

'Father says that all politicians are evil. I don't know anything about it.'

'Civil servants are not politicians, Nell. But perhaps this is not the best moment to go into it all.' He said that partly because he suspected she had no wish to learn.

There was a pause.

'Do you like walking?' she asked.

'Very much. I could easily walk all day. Would you come with me?'

'I do walk all day, or most of it. Of course I have to sleep at night. I lie in front of the fire.'

'But it's too warm for a fire at this time of year.' He said it to keep the conversation going, but, in fact, he was far from certain. He himself was not particularly warm at that very moment. He had no doubt cooled off after speeding up the ascent, but the two of them were, none the less, walking reasonably fast, and still he felt chilly, perhaps perilously so.

'Father always likes a fire,' said the girl. 'He's a cold mortal.'

They had reached the decayed milestone or waymark at which Stephen had turned on the previous day. The girl had stopped and was fingering the lichens with which it was spattered. She knelt against the stone with her left arm round the back of it.

'Can you put a name to them? ' asked Stephen.

'Yes, to some of them.'

'I am sure your father has one of my brother's books on his shelf.'

'I don't think so,' said the girl. 'We have no shelves. Father can't read.'

She straightened up and glanced at Stephen.

'Oh, but surely-'

For example, and among other things, the girl herself was perfectly well spoken. As a matter of fact, hers was a noticeably beautiful voice. Stephen had noticed it, and even thrilled to it, when first he had heard it, floating up from the bottom of the so-called clough. He had thrilled to it ever since, despite the curious things the girl sometimes said.

They resumed their way.

'Father has no eyes,' said the girl.

'That is terrible,' said Stephen. 'I hadn't realized.'

The girl said nothing.

Stephen felt his first real qualm, as distinct from mere habitual self-doubt. 'Am I taking you away from him? Should you go back to him? '

'I'm never with him by day,' said the girl. 'He finds his way about.'

'I know that does happen,' said Stephen guardedly. 'All the same-'

'Father doesn't need a civil service to run him,' said the girl. The way she spoke convinced Stephen that she had known all along what the civil service was and did. He had from the first supposed that to be so. Everyone knew.

'You said your dead wife was a wonderful woman,' said the girl.

'Yes, she was.'

'My father is a wonderful man.'

'Yes,' said Stephen. 'I am only sorry about his affliction.'

'It's not an affliction,' said the girl.

Stephen did not know what to say to that. The last thing to be desired was an argument of any kind whatever, other perhaps than a fun argument.

'Father doesn't need to get things out of books,' said the girl.