He made a step toward her, as if about to say something, when she retreated and exclaimed:
"Don't come near me!" she cried, almost hysterically. "I hate you. I won't let you address me again until that fire is lighted."
She sank down on the stump of a tree and, burying her face in her hands, gave way, womanlike, to a torrent of tears. When the hysterical spell had passed, he was still standing humbly before her, looking down at her, with a sad, set expression on his face.
"Won't you listen to me?" he said.
"I won't listen to anything until you have lighted the fire once more," was her stubborn reply.
Overhead the sun suddenly broke through the heavy gray clouds. The mists slowly lifted. Once more land and water were bathed in a flood of cheering sunshine. Grace's moods were mercurial. All that morning she had been particularly depressed because of the weather. As Nature put on a fairer garb, her spirits rose. She now felt sorry she had spoken so harshly to him. At least, she might have given him a chance to explain.
"Won't you listen?" he asked again.
He spoke pleadingly, without anger, the rich tones of his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. Standing bareheaded, the sun falling full on his tanned face and neck, he looked strikingly handsome.
"Why did you extinguish the fire?" she demanded again in a low and more conciliatory tone.
Leaning over toward her, he said: