"Mr. Styles—" she began, but he put his hand over her mouth.
"You are sick—out of your head," he interrupted. "I know what is best, and you must do as I say. Come on." And he pulled her forward by the hand.
"Where to?"
"Not very far."
"I—I do not wish to go to your home."
"I'll not take you there, don't fear."
"You are going to hand me over to the—the authorities."
"Never! Come. I won't hurt you."
He led the way through the woods, across a small stream and past a spot where some wild berries grew. Then they struck a trail leading up a hillside. The place was new to her.
"I want to know where you are taking me," she said presently, and came to a halt.