Pauline hesitated: since earliest childhood the Abbey had oppressed her with ill omen, and she could not overcome her prejudice in a moment.
"You're not really afraid when you're with me?" he persisted.
Pauline surrendered, and they went across the etiolated lawn toward the entrance. The wind was roaring through every crevice, and the ivy was scratching restlessly at the panes or shivering where through the gaps it had crept in with furry tendrils.
"It's rather fun to be walking up this staircase as if this were our own house," said Guy.
Pauline had an impulse to go back, and she made a quick step to descend.
"Where are you going?"
"Guy, I think I feel afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Oh, not of anything. Just afraid."
"Come, foolish one," he whispered gently.