"Really, you had better go," he said.
But Dot's dread had begun to take tangible form. Perhaps the very shock she had undergone had served to awaken in her some of the dormant instincts of her womanhood.
She stood her ground, obedient to an inner prompting that she dared not ignore. "Will you—walk a little way with me?" she said at last.
For the first time Nap's eyes looked at her intently, searched her closely, unsparingly. She faced the scrutiny bravely, but she trembled under it.
At the end of a lengthy pause he spoke. "Are you going to faint?"
"No," she answered quickly. "I never faint. Only—only—I do feel—rather sick."
He put his hand under her arm with a suddenness that allowed of no protest and began to march her up the hill.
Long before they reached the top Dot's face was scarlet with exertion and she was gasping painfully for breath; but he would not let her rest till they were over the summit and out of sight of the valley and what lay there.
Then, to her relief, he stopped. "Better now?"
"Yes," she panted.