When Ormond roused, stiff and weary beyond caring, he saw Randal sitting with his knees drawn up, and the sunshine harsh on his face. The lines of his face hurt Ormond to the quick. He walked across with legs that refused to carry him straightly.
“It wouldn’t make any difference, Randal,” he said pitifully. “Kiliat has won. You knew, didn’t you?”
Randal looked out before him across the wreckage of the gully where the flood still gallopped in spume.
“Kiliat had everything in the Lion,” he said levelly. “If the Lion was done he was done, too. Do you think he would marry if he had to work for her? I know better than that.”
Ormond’s hands fell on the bowed shoulders. His palms were raw flesh, and the whole man was cramped with pain.
“Come along back, old chap,” he said.
“Come along back to Father Denis. For we’ve both of us loved too well, Randal; and we both know the punishment for that sin.”
