They walked on and on. The raindrops fell more thickly, then thinned
away.

'It is exactly a year today,' she said, as they-walked on the round
shoulder of the down with an oak-wood on the left hand. 'Exactly!'

'What anniversary is it, then?' he inquired.

'Exactly a year today, Siegmund and I walked here--by the day, Thursday.
We went through the larch-wood. Have you ever been through the
larch-wood?'

'No.'

'We will go, then,' she said.

'History repeats itself,' he remarked.

'How?' she asked calmly.

He was pulling at the heads of the cocksfoot grass as he walked.

'I see no repetition,' she added.

'No,' he exclaimed bitingly; 'you are right!'

They went on in silence. As they drew near a farm they saw the men
unloading a last wagon of hay on to a very brown stack. He sniffed the
air. Though he was angry, he spoke.