The drum of hooves, Diana’s voice calling, ‘Ride on, Aubrey. Ride on, I say. I must speak to Maturin,’ and she reined in beside him. ‘I must speak to you, Maturin. Stephen, would you leave and not say good-bye to me?’ ‘Will you not let me go, Diana?’ he said, looking up, his eyes filling with tears. ‘No, no, no,’ she cried. ‘You must not leave me – go, yes go to France – but write to me, write to me, and come back.’ She gripped him hard with her small hand, and she was away, the turf flying behind her horse.
