They walked across the field, to a clump of trees by the Virginia rail-fence that separated them from the large market-garden on the other side. "Now that I've come all this way," Val said, leaning against one of the elms, with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, "I want to run home and leave things to chance." He made no answer. She glanced up to find him looking at her with an intentness that confused her. She turned away, sat down, and took off her hat. Her hair was loose; she pinned it up as well as she could, but her hands felt unskilful, helpless. She could not free herself from the sense of those deep eyes arraigning, caressing, compelling her. She looked up with a fluttering smile. "Sit down, and don't stare." He only leaned back against the opposite elm. "Yes, there's some other change in you besides the growing prettier. What's happened?" In the hypersensitized state of her nerves the question hurt keenly. That they should not have met for all this time, and he ask that! It was all she could do to keep the tears out of her lowered eyes. "Come," he urged, "is some of the gilt worn off your particular piece of gingerbread?" "No," she said, with recovered firmness; "I've not come to complain. I've only come to be helped to understand." "Ah, life has pricked you, I see that--and"--he smiled faintly--"you don't understand." "Yes," she said--the voice was not quite so steady--"I've got hurt. If I'd sat quiet, I wouldn't have bumped myself against sharp corners. But I shall not sit quiet." "Oh no, you may be depended on for that." "But I _have_ sat quiet, you know, for years. That's done with, now." He shifted his position uneasily. "I don't want any longer to be always fortunate, always happy. I want to know about life. I want to understand." Still he said nothing. "It's a kind of death not to understand," she said. "And has some of Death's peace to recommend it. But let's come to Hecuba. What do you want to understand?" "It--is so--hard for me to say." "Harder than not understanding?" "No. I--want to know--if you have any objection to releasing me from my promise?" "What promise?" She put her hands up, quickly, to hide her convulsed face. He had forgotten! "If you don't remember, that's release enough," she said, getting up. He came forward and put his hand on her arm. "You don't mean that about your going away from home?" She nodded her averted head. "Certainly I won't release you from that promise." "Why not?" She turned swiftly on him. "What is it to you?" "It's a great deal to me." "Well, it's more to me. I've come to say I take my promise back." He bent down to her. "You _didn't_ come to say that, Val." Her wet eyes fell before his softened looks. "I--I can't say just what I came to say." "Why not?" "You're gone so far from me." "No, I haven't, dear." The dark face was close to hers. "I've tried, perhaps, but I haven't succeeded. Val--"