Alwynne nodded.
"Yes—put it in quickly," she said.
Without a word, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he did as she asked. Then, rising and slipping her arm through his own, he pushed on quite silently, holding back the strong pollard shoots, clearing aside the brambles, till they reached the uneven footpath once more, that led them in less than five minutes to the further edge of the wood. As they emerged into the open fields, he felt the weight on his arm lessening. He glanced at his companion, and saw that there was once more a tinge of colour in her cheek.
She drew a deep breath and looked at him.
"I thought I should never get out again," she said dispassionately, as one stating a bald fact.
"Out of that wood. You were just in time. I thought I was caught. I should have been, if you hadn't come."
Then she grew conscious of his expression, and answered it—
"I suppose you think I'm mad."
"I do rather."