“I am afraid you must think me a great coward,” she faltered. “You would not behave like that, I am sure.”
“I am not so delicate as you. You ought never to trust yourself in these rough places alone.”
“And now I have all these three miles to go alone in the dark, and I am so afraid. I may meet cows or animals of some kind. Look how dark it has become.”
“If you will rest a little I will go with you part of the way. I can’t come as far as Crishowell, but I’ll take you till we can see a farm-house where they’ll give you a lantern and a man to carry it before you to the village.”
“Oh, thank you. How very kind you are.”
He laughed. “Am I?” he said. “’Tis a mighty disagreeable piece of business for me, isn’t it?”
There are many ways of conveying admiration, and Rhys’ voice was expressive.
Isoline was engaged with her boot, and he sat down beside her on the rock. It was almost dark.
Like all who saw Rhys Walters for the first time she was considerably puzzled to know who and what he might be, and his surroundings gave no clue to his position. His clothes were good, being his own, for though Bumpett had counselled him to borrow from George, he would never condescend to wear anything belonging to him. He spoke well when he gave himself the trouble, and Isoline, who was not as discriminating as she might have been, admired his assurance.