It was too much to hope that the peace that he had spoiled would return at once, but we did have some beautiful days that I love to pass through my memory. Bronwen and I were very close at that time. There was an understanding between us that arose from no words, gestures, or looks. There was a curious side-shoot from this; time and again after a silence she would say the words that had already formed in my mind, or she would hum a tune, coming in at the bar that I had reached in my interior song. Sometimes I would know exactly what she was going to say and (what was stranger) what I was going to reply, so that I heard my own voice running over the words already familiar. This was a queer, disturbing feeling, something dreamlike. It had never happened to me before; but then I had never loved before, with my whole heart and soul. We were alone one day, one of the first windless, sunny days of the growing year, and I had brought my chair out to the lovely green under the ash trees. A stream ran deep along the edge against the plough, and there was the continual music of it in the still air.
