"No," she said. But she rose with difficulty, and he knew by her voice that she was shaken.
"It's of no use to go on," he said. "I told you so. We must stay here. It is after midnight now. In an hour, or a little more, dawn will appear. If we find the road now we can do no good."
She shivered. "Take me back," she said miserably. "I--I don't know where we are."
He took her hand, and with a little judgment found the tree again. "If you could sleep awhile," he said, "the time would pass."
"I cannot," she cried, "I cannot." And then, "Oh Sophy! Sophy!" she wailed, "why did I leave you? Why did I leave you?"
He let her weep a minute or two, and then as much to distract her as for any other reason, he asked her if she had been brought up with her mistress.
She ceased to sob. "Why?" she asked, startled.
"Because--you called her by her name," he said. "I noticed because I've a sister of that name."
"Sophia?"
"Yes. If I had listened to her--but there, what is the use of talking?" And he broke off brusquely.