"Your punishment?" she faltered, and he saw her lashes tremble.
"For the other day—for the afternoon by the poplar spring. I've been wanting to beg your pardon on my knees."
Her lashes were raised steadily, and she regarded him gravely while a slight frown gathered her dark brows. She was still humanly feminine enough to find the apology harder to forgive than the offense.
"Oh, I had forgotten," she said a little coldly. "So that was, after all, why you ran away?"
"It was not the only reason."
"And the other?"
He closed his eyes suddenly and drew back.
"I ran away because I knew if I stayed I should do it again within two seconds," he replied.
A little blue flower was growing in the red clay wheel-rut at her feet, and, stooping, she caressed it gently without plucking it.
"It was very foolish," she said in a quiet voice; "but I had forgotten it, and you should have let it rest. Afterward, you did such a brave, splendid thing."