It was barely more than a whisper, but I heard it clearly as I stepped out of the door. I did not heed it, however. I had done wrong in coming there at all, and I was sufficiently master of myself now to hold to my resolve to leave her. I walked toward the spot where I had left Karasch with the horses; but I had not taken a dozen steps before a great scurry of feet came after me, and Chris was yelping with glee and thrusting his nose into my hand and fondling me.
“You shouldn’t have come, Chris. You’re only making it all the harder, old dog. You must go back. You belong to her now;” and turning to send him back, I saw her coming toward us.
“I called to you, Burgwan.”
“I thought it best not to hear you, Mademoiselle.”
“I could not let you go like that,” she murmured; and then a pause fell between us and we stood for a minute or more, neither knowing what to say.
“Karasch is here, too?” she said at length, seeing him with the horses.
“Yes. He was anxious to know you were really safe.”
“And you?” There was a quick gleam of hope in her eyes that I too had acted with the same motive.
“That was not my reason. I knew you were safe. I have seen Father Michel. I came because I am a coward. But I am going.”
“No.” Sharp, clear, decisive and almost peremptory her tone was. And again we were silent in mutual embarrassment. To relieve it somewhat I began to move, and we walked away from the little station along a path leading up a small grass-covered hill and reached the top of it before we spoke again.