At last they reached a lane whose high banks sheltered them from all chance of observation; here my lady paused.
"O John," she murmured, "I'm so—so weary, prithee don't hurry me so!" The Major, mute and grim, stared straight before him. "John?" said she tenderly. At this he turned and looked at her and before that look my lady cried out and cowered away. "John!" she cried in frightened wonderment.
"Madam," said he, "why are you here, I sought you not? If you are for dallying, go back—back to your——" He clenched his teeth on the word and turned away. "If mam, if you are—for home to-night I'll see you so far. Pray let us go." And he strode impatiently forward, but presently, seeing her stand where he had left her, pale and forlorn, frowned and stood hesitating.
Here my lady, feeling the situation called for tears, sank down upon the grassy bank beside the way and forthwith wept distractingly; though had any been there to notice, it might have been remarked that her eyes did not swell and her delicate nose did not turn red—yet she wept with whole-hearted perseverance.
The Major grew restless, he looked up the lane and he looked down the lane, he turned scowling eyes aloft to radiant moon and down to shadowy earth; finally he took one long pace back towards her.
"Madam!" said he.
My lady sobbed and bowed her lovely head. The Major approached another step.
"My lady!" he remonstrated.
My lady gasped and crouched lower. The Major approached nearer yet.
"Mam!"