She did not faint, though Arthur, when he saw the deadly pallor of her face, was about to spring to the door and call out for assistance. She warned him by a rapid gesture to do nothing of the kind. This was her first impulse; she pointed then to a caraffe of water. He poured some into a glass and brought it to her. It revived her partially. The color struggled back into her pale cheeks, she sat up and tried to smile—such a faint watery attempt at a smile that her companion could have gone on his knees, then and there, imploring her only to weep.
"I am very foolish," she said faintly, "but since we last met I have suffered, and suffering has made me weak. Have patience with me for one moment. Give me your arm, that will be best; the fresh air may revive me; and—walls have ears."
She looked round with a sudden terror in her eyes. To describe the effect of her words, of her weakness, on the inflammable heart of the young man would be impossible. He was beside himself with the longing to take her to his heart, to proclaim himself, once and for ever, her protector and champion. But love had taught him self-control. Trembling from head to foot, he still preserved an apparent composure. He took the hand she offered and raised it reverently to his lips, then placed it on his arm.
"Be calm, dear lady," he said gently, "I have come here with this express purpose to find some way out of your troubles, and, God helping me, I will."
The boy spoke slowly, deliberately. In his words there was all the fervor of a vow, all the hallowed binding power of a sacramental utterance; and to her for the moment it did not seem unnatural. He spoke again, after a short pause: "Mrs. Grey, do you think you can trust me?"
She looked up. There was a dreamy softness in her eyes and her voice was low: "Yes, I think I can. God knows I was sorely in need of a friend. But" (her voice changed, she looked round in a bewildered manner), "come out; I cannot speak to you here. I have a kind of feeling—dear me! how weak and childish I have become!—I hear voices, I see faces. I fancy sometimes I am being watched."
"You are weak and ill, Mrs. Grey; you should not be here alone. Let us go out to the shore; the sea-air will do you good. See! your hat is lying here."
She obeyed him. It almost seemed as if his voice had a certain power over her for the moment. He took her hand again and led her from the room and from the house, half supporting her from time to time. Neither spoke until the cottage was left far in the background, and then they were on the sands close by the sea.
"Shall we sit down here?" asked Arthur.
"Yes," she said, "we are alone; sea and sky—sea and sky." Then she paused with a bewildered look: "What am I saying? I know I wanted to speak to you, and now everything has gone."