Raven felt rising in him the rage of the natural man, a passion of protection for the woman who is invincibly beautiful yet physically weak.
"An'," she went on, "you might ha' seen him out there, axe an' all."
"Oh," said Raven, as if it were of no great account, "I did see him."
"O my soul!" she breathed. "You see him? I'm glad you come in. He might ha' asked you if you'd seen me."
"He did."
This was a new terror and she was undone.
"How'd you do it?" she asked breathlessly. "You must ha' put it better'n I could or he'd be here now."
"I didn't 'put it,'" said Raven, easily. "I lied, and he went off down the hill."
Extravagant as it seemed, he did get an impression, like a flash, that she was disappointed in him because he had lied. But this was no time for casuistry. There were steps to be taken.
"You won't go back to him," he said, and said it definitively as if it were a matter he had thought out, said it like a command.