Her hands came out in wild imploring. "You won't, you won't, you won't," she begged. "Don't you understand?—my keeping still was just as if I'd killed pa! Oh, it was! So I can't tell—now!"
"Marylyn——"
"Promise you won't, oh, promise you won't!" And she went down, crumpling into a little, miserable heap.
Quickly, he lifted her. "Well, we won't tell her then, not if you don't want to—but we'll have to some day."
"Some day—maybe—but not now."
"All right, then—not now." He led her from garden to coulée and back again, trying to comfort her all the while as best he could.
"You see, Marylyn," he said, "you're wrong about its being your fault. It's mine. I promised Lounsbury I'd look after you folks."
She stopped short. "Did you tell him about you and me?"
"No."
"Oh." She was relieved. "You mustn't, either. Not him, or anyone."