Jem's pulse throbbed with the picture which unconscious Jean had conjured up; yet he spoke quietly: "Jean, you must take care how you say such things."
"I wouldn't, to anybody accept you. I never do. But I can't help seeing: and it is true."
A good ten minutes of silence followed. Jean rose and went to the edge, gazing down upon a swirl of dark water in the rocky bed below. Jem remained where he was. He had to quell a rush of fierce longing to ask more, to find out more, to learn how things really were with Evelyn, to know if possible only that she was happy. He craved nothing further, but that he did crave, passionately, bitterly—just to know that she was happy!
The peace of years was suddenly broken up, and a whirlpool of the old suffering had him in its grasp. There was nobody to see, for Jean's back was turned; and had anybody else been present, there was not much to be seen. At the ten minutes' end, Jem had mastered himself.
He came to Jean's side, only a little paler than usual, to say, "Don't go too close to the edge. You would have a poor chance if you fell over."
Jean retreated two steps obediently. "But I am never giddy," she said. "Cyril can't stand there. It makes no difference to me."
"You have strong nerves."
"I've always lived here, you know. Shall we go on now?"
"I don't think I can walk much further to-day. Stupid of me, isn't it?" said Jem cheerfully. "I'm a little—tired, perhaps. So, on the whole, we may as well turn back."
It seemed like a dream to Jem. He could hardly believe his own eyes, when, as they came down the path, two people advanced towards them from below, passing out from the tree-shadows as once before. It was almost on the self-same spot that the encounter took place. Jem and Jean were not rushing now, however. Jean was no longer a child, but verging on womanhood; and Jem had lost some of his buoyancy; and twice seven years might have passed over the General's head.