“I must go,” she said; “don’t ask me such things.”
The night was, by this time, lying on the hillsides like a black cloth, and they crossed the rough turf, Isoline tripping and knocking her unaccustomed feet against the stones. A thrill went through Rhys as she took his arm at his suggestion; she could feel his heart beating against her hand. It was very interesting, she thought, and she hardly regretted having lost herself, though she had been frightened enough at the time.
They walked along the high ground until the lighted windows of a farm were visible on a slope below them, and then began to descend; at the outer side of a wall they stopped. “I can’t come any further,” he said, “but I’ll help you over this. There’s the house, straight in front of us. Tell them you’ve missed your road, and ask them to send a man with a light.”
He took her by the waist, and lifted her on to the top of the wall, then swung himself over and stood before her on the inside of the enclosure. “If you come back,” he said, “and keep straight on above this along the hillside, you’ll get to the place where I met you to-night. Do you see?”
She made no answer. She would not slip down from her seat for fear of falling into his arms.
“I shall wait there every evening at dusk,” said Rhys, looking up at her through the blackness.
“Let me go, please let me go!”
He put up his arms and lifted her down.
“Good-bye,” she said.
“But you will think of it,” he begged, detaining her.