With difficulty he untied the gag, and Isabel drew great, gasping breaths of air into her lungs.
"I allow your wrists had better stay tied," he said. "They don't hurt you much, do they?"
"No," replied Isabel.
She walked on beside him, submitting meekly to his guiding hand on her arm, and not uttering one word of reproach. Her silence continued—became so prolonged and unnatural that Fult began to be troubled. He would rather have heard upbraidings.
"Hain't you got a word to say to me?" he asked at last. "Not a word for the man that loves you better than life, and has broke through everything to get you?"
She did not answer at once. Then she said, faintly: "Yes, I have things to say, but my mind doesn't seem to work very well; I seem to need time."
Fult laughed low. "Take all you want," he said. "I aim to give you everything you ever call for, and never to cross you noway."
For quite a distance they walked on, through dim patches of shadow and brighter spots of moonlight. Finally, as with a great effort, she spoke.
"You—you believed I was in love with you that day on the hill when we had our last talk, and I ran away from you?"
Fult laughed a low, joyous laugh. "Hit looked that way—like you were afeared you might be."