"The tactless fool," he muttered, resentment rising against the man who had not hesitated to add another twelve hours' work to an already arduous day when the call of suffering reached him.
"No, he only said what others think. I know, Fred. I can feel it. Mr. Gale was the same. They all are."
"You must not think that—you must not," he said. "And you must not stay in Waroona. You must go away."
Her arms held tighter.
"I will never go, never, while you remain. Don't despise me, Fred, don't think ill of me. I know what I am saying. I am on the edge of a precipice. If I go over, I go down, down, down, an outcast, and a—a——"
"Don't," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't talk like that."
"Who would care?" she added bitterly, "even if I did?"
It was no longer merely support that his encircling arms gave her as they strained her to him.
"It would break my heart," he whispered simply. "I am one who would care."
Unconsciously he bent his head, unconsciously she raised hers, until their lips met, and in one passionate embrace the intervening years since they had been heart to heart before passed as a dream, and only did they know that despite all the barriers which had been raised between them they were bound by a tie beyond the reach of custom, circumstance, or force.