"Trust me for that," said he.
"I must have been mad to come," he heard through the darkness.
"We're all mad once in our lives," he said, cheerfully. "Now roll yourself in your cloak. Give me your hands—so." He led her to the straw nest he had made, and lowered her to it.
"Do you wish you hadn't come?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said.
"I hope to Heaven I haven't misjudged you," he said, with the first trace of anxiety she had yet heard in his voice. "If you should be the kind of girl who's afraid of the dark—"
The straw rustled as she curled herself more comfortably in her nest.
"I'm not afraid," she said.
"Look here," said he, "here's my match-box, but don't strike a light among the straw. The door into the house is locked and the key's on this side of the door. Can you come to the back door and lock it after me, and then find your way back to your nest?"