"Ah," said Agatha, "it must have been horribly dreary?"
The man met her eyes. "Yes," he said, "you—know. You came here from far away, I think a little weary, too, and something failed you. Then you felt yourself adrift. There were—it seemed—only strangers round you, but you were wrong in one respect; you were by no means a stranger to me."
He had been leaning against a birch trunk, but now he moved a little nearer, and stood gravely looking down on her.
"You have sent Gregory away?" he said.
"Yes," said Agatha, and, startled as she was, it did not strike her that the mere admission was misleading.
Wyllard stretched his hands out. "Then won't you come to me?"
The blood swept into the girl's face. For the moment she forgot Gregory, and was only conscious of an unreasoning impulse which prompted her to take the hands held out to her. Then she rose and faced the man, with burning cheeks.
"You know nothing of me," she said. "Can you think that I would let you take me—out of charity?"
"Again you're wrong—on both points. As I once told you, I have sat for hours beside the fire beneath the pines or among the boulders with your picture for company. When I was worn-out and despondent you encouraged me. You have been with me high up in the snow on the ranges, and through leagues of shadowy bush. That is not all, however, though it's difficult to speak of such things to you. There were times when as we drove the branch line up the gorge beneath the big divide, all one's physical nature shrank from the monotony of brutal labour. The pay-days came round, and opportunities were made for us—to forget what we had borne, and had still to bear, in the snow and the icy water. Then you laid a restraining hand on me. I could not take your picture where you could not go. Is all that to count for nothing?"
Then he spread his hands out forcibly. "As to the other question: can't you get beyond the narrow point of view? We're in a big, new country where the old barriers are down. We're merely flesh and blood—red blood—and we speak as we feel. Admitting that I was sorry for you—I am—how does that tell against me—or you? There's one thing only that counts at all: I want you."