“Stop!” cried Phyl.
Silas glanced sideways at her.
“What’s the matter now?”
“I want to go back.”
“Back to Charleston!”
“Yes, stop, stop at once—I must go back, I should never have come.”
Silas was on the point of flashing out but he shut his lips tight, then he reined in.
“Wait a moment,” said he with his hand on her arm, “you can’t walk back, we are nearly half way to Grangersons. I can’t drive you because I don’t want to return to Charleston. If you have altered your mind you can go back when we reach Grangersons, you can wire from there. The old man will make it all right with Maria Pinckney.”
Phyl hesitated, then she began to cry.
It was the rarest thing in the world for her to cry like this. Tears with her meant a storm, but now she was crying quietly, hopelessly, like a lost child.