Hours came and hours went, the steeples of neighbouring village churches chimed two o'clock, three and four, but still we wandered on, while never a word passed from one to the other. At times I feared my poor little one was crying softly to herself, but I had not the courage to attempt to find out if that were so. Instead, my fingers would tighten on Mr. Fielding's guinea, whereon such a poignancy would be added to my sufferings that I was tempted at times to cast his money incontinently to the road, as a heroic but not very intelligible concession to them, in the hope that I might purchase at that price a moment's surcease to my pains. CHAPTER XV AMORIS INTEGRATIO: WE ARE CLAPT IN THE STOCKS The measure of Cynthia's resentment might be inferred from that of her endurance. The weary silent miles she trudged along must have called forth a great impetus from within, for without that stimulus the poor little creature must have drooped and flagged upon the dark road long ere she did. It was not until the birds began to chirp in the trees, and the grey face of the dawn began to speckle the darkness that she abated her defiant paces. But once she had begun to do so, the weakness grew rapidly upon her. Presently she stumbled and nearly fell. Then it was I took the courage to venture on the first of my penitent advances. I lightly touched her shoulder to support her. Finding that she had not the strength, I hardly dare say the inclination, to resist, I took her at last by the arm, very tenderly at first, but then a little more firmly, and then more firmly still. Thus, without a word passing on the side of either, the sense of our comradeship was re-established. If I could not feel that I was forgiven, I might take the comfort to myself that I was suffered. It soon grew apparent, now that the meridian of poor Cynthia's wrath was overpast, that the child would have to pay the price of it. She became a very weight in my arms, and with the first beams of daylight was ready to faint with fatigue. In the reaction of her mood she yielded herself to my will as readily and completely as ever. Therefore, to spare her as much as I could, I seized the first occasion to give her a place of rest. In the little light there were no houses to be seen, and even had there been, it was too early to hope to gain sanctuary in them. There was a wood, however, close at hand, whither I partly led and partly carried her. Within its warm and dry recesses, I selected a couch of green earth for her underneath a great tree, whose rough bark made something of a pillow for her head. First, I took off my great-coat and spread it on the ground as comfortably as I could, placed her upon it, and then divesting myself of my thick, rough jacket wrapped her snugly in it. The poor child was no sooner fixed in a position of some little comfort than she fell fast asleep.