"What was that?" she cried breathlessly.

"What was what?" demanded Benson, springing up and clutching her fast by
the arm.

She caught her breath and tried to laugh.

"You're hurting me, Jem."

His hold relaxed.

"What is the matter?" he asked gently.

"What was it startled you?"

"I was startled," she said, slowly, putting her hands on his shoulder.
"I suppose the words I used just now are ringing in my ears, but I
fancied that somebody behind us whispered 'Jem, help me out.'"

"Fancy," repeated Benson, and his voice shook; "but these fancies are not
good for you. You--are frightened--at the dark and the gloom of these
trees. Let me take you back to the house."

"No, I'm not frightened," said the girl, reseating herself. "I should
never be really frightened of anything when you were with me, Jem. I'm
surprised at myself for being so silly."

The man made no reply but stood, a strong, dark figure, a yard or two
from the well, as though waiting for her to join him.