"Don't you understand me, Sylvia? I want the right to take care of you."
She checked him with a gesture.
"It is you who can't understand. Do you think I'm heartless?"
"Nothing could make me think hardly of you," he declared.
"Then show me some respect and consideration. It was what I looked for; I felt I was safe with you."
Though he had not expected strong opposition, he saw that she was determined. He had been too precipitate, and while he had no idea of abandoning his purpose, he bowed.
"If I've offended, you must forgive me—I thought of nothing beyond my longing for you. That won't change or diminish, but I've been rash and have startled you. I must wait."
He watched her in keen anxiety, but Sylvia gave no hint of her feelings. As a matter of fact, she was wondering why she had checked and repulsed him. She could not tell. A sudden impulse had swayed her, but she was not sorry she had yielded to it. Her hold on the man was as strong as ever; the affair was not ended.
There was silence for the next few minutes. It was growing dark; the hills had faded to blurs of shadows, and the moor ran back, a vast, dim waste. Then a twinkling light moved toward them up the ascending road. Bland rose and pointed to it.
"I dare say the man has got the things he needed. We'll be off again shortly," he said in his usual manner; and Sylvia was grateful.