Dexter was conscious of a sharp, gritting sound, and a spasm of pain surged through his body and lapped about him like fire. He reeled for an instant on his feet, and an involuntary cry of anguish was wrung from his lips. A red haze filled his brain, while stars and moon and the white-gleaming mountainsides all seemed to swirl about him in inexplicable tangles. There came to him a horrible conviction that he was about to faint. He fought hard to keep his feet, to throw off the feeling of dizziness. As he stared into vacancy, trying to hold his wavering faculties, he was dimly aware that the girl still stood before him.
"I hurt you!" she was sobbing. "I didn't mean—I forgot!"
He looked at her wonderingly, and saw that her cheeks were wet with tears. "'S nothing," he said thickly. "'S all right!"
"It isn't!" Alison gasped. "To think that we—that you and I— Oh, we mustn't—we mustn't!"
"You didn't think I wanted to, did you?" Dexter gazed at her with gradually clearing vision. "I told you what to expect," he went on in a husky voice, "and it's something that I've got to do. You know that, don't you?"
"You can be so hard," she said—"you who have been so gentle."
"It isn't I." The corporal drew a slow breath as his shoulders sagged hopelessly. "I want to let you go; but I haven't anything to do with it. I'd let you go if I could. Don't you understand?"
"You don't need to," she returned in a hushed voice. "You've won. I give you my word of honor not to—not to try to get away."
Dexter raised his head sharply, his glance searching into the depths of her misty eyes. "Why?" he asked.
"Because I could never endure going through a thing like this again," she faltered. "Let anything happen rather than that." She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobbing. "You and I hurting each other!" she finished incoherently. "Oh, no!