Freda shyly complied, and they turned and walked back under the shadow of the eastern wall of the ancient church.
“You are not afraid of me, are you?”
“No-o.”
“No-o! Why No-o? You are not afraid of me, you know you are not. Then why, lately, have you always avoided me?”
There was a long silence. Then Freda said, in a weak little voice:
“I expect you know.”
“You think I know too much about—about certain very disagreeable occurrences?”
The girl answered by a long sob of terror. He patted her arm kindly:
“Come, come, my knowledge shall never hurt you, little one. That is what I wanted to tell you. At least, it’s part of it.” Another pause. “Don’t you want to hear the rest?”
“No, I don’t think I do.”