he want to be buried
there herself?

"Very well, then. We'll arrange things. The day after"--he could not
bring himself to put the bare ceremonial that would see her out of the
world into the words familiar to the country ear--"that will be the day.
We shall go over. We'll take you with us."

"No," said Tenney, "you needn't trouble yourselves. I sha'n't go over
there. Nor I sha'n't keep nobody else from goin'."

By this Raven judged he meant that he would not interfere with their
seeing Tira out of the world in their own way. The man had repudiated
her. It was a relief. It seemed to leave her, in her great freedom, the
more free.

"Come down now," said Raven, "to my house. We'll have something to eat."

That was all he could think of, to keep the stricken creature within
sound of human voices.

"I ain't hungry," said Tenney. "An' if I was"--here he stopped an
instant and a spasm shot across his face--"she left me cooked up."

"All right," said Raven. "Then you go home now, and later in the day
I'll come over and see if you've thought of anything else."

He believed the man should not, in his despairing frame of mind, be left
alone. Tenney turned, without a look at him, and went off down the
slope. Raven watched him round the curve. Then he took out the key from
under the stone, remembering it need never be put there again, went in
and locked the door. Suddenly he felt deadly sick. He went to the couch,
lay down and closed his eyes on the blackness before them. If he had a
wish, in this infinitude of desolation, it was that he might never open
them again on the dark defiles of this world. It was dusk when he did
open them, and for a minute he had difficulty in remembering why he was
there and the blow that had struck him down to such a quivering
apprehension of what was coming next. Then, before he quite found out,
he learned what had waked him. There was a voice outside--Tenney's
voice, only not Tenney's as he had known it--whimpering, begging in a
wild humility:

"You there? You let me in. You there? For God's sake let me in."

Raven was at once clearly awake. His mind was, after its interlude of
darkness, ready. He got up, and opened the door.

"Come in," he said. "Yes, leave the door open. I've been asleep. It's
close in here."

Tenney came in, not so much limping as stumbling. He seemed to be
shorter in stature. His head was bent, his body had sagged together as
if not a muscle of it had strength to d