“Don’t you realize that I love you?” he said. “Do you think I am going to lie awake all night for you, and then not hold you in my arms when we meet?” He laughed as he uttered the question, but it had a passionate ring. His lean, sunburnt face had a drawn look that oddly touched her pity. She was even moved to compunction. “I am sorry,” she said. “I thought—perhaps—it was just—a passing fancy.” “My fancies don’t pass like that,” said Montague. He spoke almost moodily, as if she had hurt him, and again her heart smote her. “I am beginning to understand,” she said. “But—you must give me time. We hardly know each other yet.” “That is soon remedied,” he said. “I warn you, I am not a very patient person. There is nothing to wait for that I can see.” “Oh, we must wait,” she said. “We must wait.” He broke again into that odd laugh of his. “We won’t wait. Life is too short.” He stooped again to kiss her. “You amazing woman!” he said. “Do you really prefer stones to bread?” She could not answer him. He had her defeated, powerless. She had no weapons with which to oppose him. But still deep in her heart, the doubt and the wonder remained. Was this indeed love that had come to her? If so, why was she thus afraid? Yet she met his lips with her own, for somehow he made her feel that she owed it to him. “That’s better,” he said, when he suffered her to go again. “Now, what are your plans? Are you still wanting to go to Fordestown?” She hesitated. “You say it is a long way?” “It’s miles,” he said. “You are right out of your way. What made you wander up here?” “They told me it was a short cut across the moor,” she said. He laughed. “Ah! These short cuts! Well, what are you going to do?” She looked at him, “Do you know—I haven’t had anything to eat all day—not since breakfast?” “Good heavens!” he said. “You’ve been wandering about the moor starving all this time?” She smiled. His concern touched her. Not for years had anyone expressed any anxiety for her welfare. “Not wandering about much,” she said. “I got as far as this this morning, and then, while I was considering which way to go, I fell asleep.” She glanced about her uneasily. “Do you think this fog is going to get any worse?” “Oh no!” he said lightly. “It’s nothing. They often come up like this in the evening. But look here! I can’t have you starving. We had better make for Fordestown after all.” “But—is it far?” She still hesitated. “Do you know the way?” “I know the direction. I can’t say how far it is. But it is nearer than Brookside. There is a fairly decent inn there. I am staying there myself.” “Oh!” she said with relief. “Then if we can only get there, you can motor me back to Brookside.” “The point is to get there,” said Montague. “But you know the direction. Do let us start before it gets any worse! I am quite rested.” She spoke urgently, for he seemed inclined to linger. He turned at once. “Yes. You must be famished. This is the way.”