“Into the West,” he murmured, “straight into the West, my own.”
Her head dropped to his shoulder. She was trembling, and once again he heard the plaintive little sound he had heard by the letter-box. In amazement he tried to lift her head, but with a sob she only burrowed it deeper. So he kissed her hair and patted her very gently and waited.
Whether it was one minute later or one year later that Barnes heard her voice he could not have told. He was way off beyond the horizon line when he caught her broken statement.
“I sha’n’t lift my head until—until it’s dark.”
The statement did not seem to disturb him. He kissed her hair.
“I’m very stupid,” she gasped.
He kissed her hair again.
“And very weak,” she murmured.
He kissed her hair once more.
“And—and altogether unworthy of you.”