"And if I thought it would please you," he added, with another attempt
at gallantry.

She did not reply, but moved steadily on, he fancied a little more
rapidly. They were nearing the house; he felt he was losing time and
opportunity. The uneven nature of the ground kept him from walking
immediately beside her, unless he held her hand or arm. Yet an odd
timidity was overtaking him. Surely this was the same girl whose
consciousness and susceptibility were so apparent a moment ago; yet her
speech had been inconsistent, unsympathetic, and coldly practical. "It's
very kind of you," he began again, scrambling up one side of the furrow
as she descended on the other, "to--to--take such an interest in--in a
stranger, and I wish you knew how" (she had mounted the ridge again, and
stood balancing herself as if waiting for him to finish his sentence)
"how--how deeply--I--I"--She dropped quickly down again with the same
movement of uneasy consciousness, and he left the sentence unfinished.
The house was now only a few yards away; he hurried forward, but she
reached the wooden platform and stoop upon it first. He, however, at the
same moment caught her hand.

"I want to thank you," he said, "and say good-night."

"Good-night." Her voice was indistinct again, and she was trembling.
Emboldened and reckless, he sprang upon the platform, and encircling her
with one arm, with his other hand he unloosed the woolen cloud around
her head and bared her faintly flushed cheek and half-open, hurriedly
breathing lips. But the next moment she threw her head back with a
single powerful movement, and, as it seemed to him, with scarcely an
effort cast him off with both hands, and sent him toppling from the