"Yes, try!" he said gently. "You won't find it so very difficult."
She turned back to the gate, and leaned wearily upon it.
"You are very kind. You always have been. I couldn't tell any one else—not even Daisy. You see, she is—his friend. But you are different. I don't think you like him, do you?"
Grange hesitated a little. "I won't go so far as to say that," he said finally. "We get on all right. I was never very intimate with the fellow. I think he is a bit callous."
"Callous!" Muriel gave a sudden hard shudder. "He is much worse than callous. He is hideously, almost devilishly cruel. But—but—he isn't only that. Blake, do you think he is quite human? He is so horribly, so unnaturally strong."
Grange heard the scared note in her voice, and drew very close to her. "I think," he said quietly, "that—without knowing it—you exaggerate both his cruelty and his strength. I know he is a queer chap. I once heard it said of him that he has the eyes of a snake-charmer, and I believe it more or less. But I assure you he is human—quite human. And"—he spoke with unwonted emphasis—"he has no more power over you—not an inch—than you choose to give him."
Muriel uttered a faint sigh. "I knew I should never make you understand."
Grange was silent. He might have retorted that she had given him very little information to go upon, but he forebore. There was an almost colossal patience about this man. His silence had in it nothing of resentment.
After a few seconds Muriel went on, her voice very low. "I would give anything—all I have—not to meet him when he comes back. But I don't know how to get away from him. He is sure to seek me out. And I—I am only a girl. I can't prevent it."
Again there sounded that piteous quiver in her words. It was like the cry of a lost child. Grange heard it, and clenched his hands, but he did not speak. He was gazing straight ahead, stern-eyed and still.