"Hugh, don't be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps
it's because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait.
Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don't understand? You're
angry? But I can't explain it any better."

"You can lay your hand on me," he said hoarsely. "God knows I'm real
enough." And he thought so! "My love for you is here like a granite
block, Sylvie."

"I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know
you--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little,
Hugh. Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog
will lift. Then we'll really be on top of the mountain." She laughed,
but rather sadly.

"I will always hate this mountain-top," he said. "I used to love it.
I was so close to happiness, and now you've snatched it out of my
reach." He drew in sobbing breaths.

"No--it's myself I'm keeping from happiness, not you," she answered.
"I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh,
be patient." She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her
lips. "Please be patient. Let's go down out of this wind. I can't
see your world, and I'm cold."

So, in silence--a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the valley.