“I did, my dear, and I meant it. But not what your heart calls out at midnight.”
She stood where she was a little longer; presently she sighed.
“I will do as you bid me—because you bid me;” and he laughed.
“Reason most womanish.”
“Don’t laugh at me just now,” she said.
He folded his arms tightly, and stooped his head towards them. “I daren’t do anything else,” he told her; “and I will not.”
In the dark she stretched out her hands to him; but soon she gave over, and gloried in the strength he had.
“Good-night,” she said; and he answered her without moving, “Good-night.”
She stole away to his tent; but he sat on where he was, far into the night.
In the morning light they met as if nothing had happened; and after breakfast he took her by Wastwater to Seascale—to the train for the south. He was the old informal, chatty companion, full of queer knowledge and outspoken reflections. He told her his plans, so far as he could foresee them. He should be going to Cornwall in November.