"I daren't." She shivered.
"If you did it once he'd stop."
"No, it's like a disease. It's inherited, Alexander."
"Ay, that's his excuse. It gives him the kind of pleasure a child gets when it's ill." He thought it was the first time he had heard her sigh.
"You'll have to be patient with us, Alec. And could you stir the fire up a bit? I'm cold, my son."
"Are you? Ah, you're killing yourself!" He felt her hands. They were of a clinging cold that frightened him. "I'll have a blaze in a minute," he said; but as he would have risen he felt her limp arms round his neck and her cheek against his.
"Such miles, and miles, and miles," she sobbed; "such miles and miles! And to have you angry at the end of it! You mustn't be angry, Alec."
"I'm not; I'm not."
"You must help me."
"I want to." His own voice was as strange in his ears as her appeal. "I shan't leave you again. I'm going to stay with you."