"In Heaven's name!" he cried, without looking at her, "forgive me." The words leaped forth from his very heart. He wasn't half worthy that kiss and he had the astonishing grace to know it.
As though any apology were necessary, however, as though events could have happened otherwise! The kiss had been as sure to come as the imminent meeting of evening with deep dark night. And so Rachel, by her manner, seemed to say. In an anguish of expectancy she looked up at him—ready to be assured, or ready to be stricken in her pride as never maid was stricken before.
Before Emil could answer, Zarah Patch appeared round a turn of the roadway. Concealed by hedges and clumps of shrubbery, his approach had been unnoticed by the pair. Now he brought the white mare to a halt while he shot a look at the girl. Some inkling of the gossip concerning his friend's young granddaughter had reached even his old ears.
"I'm going back to the Point directly, Rachel," he called, "be ye inclined to come along?"
She sent a mute, tremulous question to Emil. His eyes were rivetted on the ground. A powerful struggle was taking place within him. A desire for love had flamed in his heart and, with his lips on hers, for one brief fiery instant he had tasted the sweetness of his power over her. None the less, what he now experienced was an intolerable sense of shame. It set the seal of dignity on his ardour, if she had but understood. But she totally misread him.
Pride sent up its secret cry: Perhaps he regretted the kiss, perhaps he had no right to kiss her?
"Want to come along?" urged Zarah. "I've been hauling sod and the cart is some muddied, but if yer'e keerful gittin' in, ye won't hurt yer dress none."
Rachel suddenly signified her assent.
Emil raised his head in a singular and wild fashion. He made an imploring gesture. But it was too late.
Under cover of a manner of perfect nonchalance she rose to the supposed situation. Haughtily, under his fiercely-miserable eyes and the curious eyes of the old man, she proceeded to the cart.