"If I might stand just inside your doorway?" suggested Salt.
"No, come in," said the host with an air of sudden resolution. "After all----" He led the way out of the tiny entrance-hall into a room. Salt could not refrain from noticing that although the furniture was meagre, the walls were covered with paintings.
"I am an artist," said the brusque tenant of the cottage, noticing the involuntary glance around. "Come--in return for shelter you shall tell me what you think of these things."
"I am not a critic," replied Salt, stepping from picture to picture, "and it would be presumptuous, therefore, for me to give an opinion on works that I do not understand, although I can recognise them as striking and unconventional."
He indicated a portrait with a nod. It was in an earlier, a smoother, and less characteristic style. To the man who was no artist it was a very beautiful painting of a very beautiful girl.
"My dead wife," said the artist, as Salt stood in silent admiration. "I have buried her this afternoon."
The man who had never known or even seen her felt a stab as he looked up at the lovely, smiling face.
"Well," said the painter roughly, "why don't you say how sorry you are, or some platitude of that sort?"
Salt turned away, to leave the other alone meeting the sweet eyes. "Because I cannot say how sorry I am," he replied with gentle pity.
"Oh, my beloved!" he heard the whisper. "Not long, not long."
"You are packing," Salt continued a minute later. "Let me help you--with some."
A heap of straw and shavings littered the floor; boxes and cases stood ready at hand.
"No," replied the man, looking moodily at his preparations. "I have changed my mind. I have to go on a journey to-night, but I shall leave this place as it is and secure the doors and windows instead."
He brought tools, and together they nailed across the cottage windows the stout old-fashioned shutters that secured them. Neither spoke much.
"Come," said the artist, when the melancholy work was complete; "the storm is over. Our roads lie together for a little way." He locked the outer door, and stood lingering reluctantly with his hand upon the key. "A moment," he said, unlocking the door again, and entering. "Only a moment. Wait for me at the gate."