"You dropped them, you imprudent young person--dropped them in the
middle of the road, not far from here; and the young man who is running
the Gospel tent picked them up just as I was riding by." He drew back,
holding her at arm's length, and scrutinizing her troubled face with the
minute searching gaze of his short-sighted eyes.

"Did you really think you could run away from me? You see you weren't
meant to," he said; and before she could answer he had kissed her again,
not vehemently, but tenderly, almost fraternally, as if he had guessed
her confused pain, and wanted her to know he understood it. He wound his
fingers through hers.

"Come let's walk a little. I want to talk to you. There's so much to
say."

He spoke with a boy's gaiety, carelessly and confidently, as if nothing
had happened that could shame or embarrass them; and for a moment, in
the sudden relief of her release from lonely pain, she felt herself
yielding to his mood. But he had turned, and was drawing her back along
the road by which she had come. She stiffened herself and stopped short.

"I won't go back," she said.

They looked at each other a moment in silence; then he answered gently:
"Very well: let's go the other way, then."

She remained motionless, gazing silently at the ground, and he went on:
"Isn't there a house up here somewhere--a little abandoned house--you
meant to show me some day?" Still she made no answer, and he continued,