The Long Portage by Harold Bindloss

Evening was drawing on when Bella strolled aimlessly down the ascending road that led to Marple's residence. On one hand of the road there was a deep rift, filled with shadow, in which a beck murmured among the stones, and the oaks that climbed to the ridge above flung their great branches against the saffron glow in the western sky. Fallen leaves, glowing brown and red, had gathered thick beneath one hedgerow and more came slowly sailing down; but Bella brushed through them unheeding, oblivious to her surroundings. She had suffered during the few days that had followed her interview with Gladwyne and even the sharp encounter with Miss Marple in which she had recently indulged had not cheered her, though it had left her friend smarting.

Presently she looked around with interest as a figure appeared farther up the road, and recognizing the fine poise and vigorous stride, she stopped and waited. Lisle was a bracing person to talk to, and she wanted to see him. He soon came up with her and she greeted him cordially. Unlike Gladwyne, he was a real man, resolute and resourceful, with a generous vein in him, and she did not resent the fact that he looked rather hard at her.