“Are you sorry you came here with me, Allaye?” he asked. There was malice in the very question.
She put down the spoon and looked up from the fire. He stood shadowy, his head ducked forward, the firelight faint on his enigmatic, timeless, half-smiling face.
“I’m not sorry,” she answered slowly, using all her courage. “Because I love you—”
She crouched quite still on the hearth. He turned aside his face. After a moment or two he went out. She stirred her pot slowly and sadly. She had to go downstairs for something.
And there on the landing she saw him standing in the darkness with his arm over his face, as if fending a blow.
“What is it?” she said, laying her hand on him. He uncovered his face.
“I would take you away if I could,” he said.
“I can wait for you,” she answered.
He threw himself in a chair that stood at a table there on the broad landing, and buried his head in his arms.
“Don’t wait for me! Don’t wait for me!” he cried, his voice muffled.