"You see, I did not expect you," she murmured.

"Evidently not." Sir Roland stood gravely considering her. "I came
back," he said, after a moment, "because it occurred to me that you
might be lonely after all, in spite of your assurance to the contrary.
I did not ask you to accompany me, Naomi. I did not think you would care
to do so. But I regretted it later, and I have come back to remedy the
omission. Will you come with me to Scotland?"

His tone was quiet and somewhat formal, but there was in it a kindliness
that sent the blood pulsing through her veins in a wave of relief even
greater than her astonishment at his words. He did not know, then. That
was her one all-possessing thought. He could not know, or he had not
spoken to her thus.

She sat slowly forward, drawing her hair about her shoulders like a
cloak. She felt for the moment an overpowering weakness, and she could
not look up.

"I will come, of course," she said at last, her voice very low, "if you
wish it."

Sir Roland did not respond at once. Then, as his silence was beginning
to disquiet her again, he laid a steady hand upon the shadowing hair.

"My dear," he said gently, "have you no wishes upon the subject?"

Again she started at his touch, and again, as if to rectify the start,
drew ever so slightly nearer to him. It was many, many days since she
had heard that tone from him.