He sat up, ignoring the warning. "Anne," he said, "have you ever dreamed about me since that night?"
She was silent, all her attention concentrated upon her bunch of heather.
His eyes left her face and began to study her hands.
After a moment he pulled a bit of string out of his pocket and without a word proceeded to wind it round the stalks she held. As he knotted it he spoke.
"So that is why you were afraid of me to-day. I knew there was something. I winded it the moment we met. Whenever I hold your hand in mine I can see into your soul. What was it, Anne? The Knave of Diamonds on a black mare—riding to perdition?"
He laughed at her softly as though she had been a child. He was still watching her hands. Suddenly he laid his own upon them and looked into her face.
"Or was it just a savage?" he asked her quietly.
Against her will, in spite of the blaze of sunshine, she shivered.
"Yes," he said. "But isn't it better to face him than to run away? Haven't you always found it so? You kissed him once, Anne. Do you remember? It was the greatest thing that ever happened to him."
He spoke with a gentleness that amazed her. His eyes held hers, but without compulsion. He was lulling her fear of him to rest, as he alone knew how.
She answered him with quivering lips. "I have wondered since if I did wrong."