It had come on to drizzle again. The rain was fine and cold, almost a
mist, and already it was forming a film of ice on the rocks.
"I can't take time to go back by the trough. The point is that I don't
want you camped up here after night. There has been no sun on this side
of the spur and in the chill of the evening it must get cold even in
summer."
He was making his preparations as he talked. His coat he took off and
threw down. His shoes he tied by the laces to his belt.
"I'll try not to be very long," he promised.
"It's God's will then, so it is," she sighed, relapsing into the
vernacular.
Her voice was low and not very steady, for the heart of the girl was
heavy. She knew she must not protest his decision. That was not the way
to play the game. But somehow the salt had gone from their light-hearted
adventure. She had become panicky from the moment when her feet had
started the rubble in the trough and gone flying into the air. The
gayety that had been the note of their tramp had given place to fears.
Elliot took her little hand in a warm, strong grip. "You're not going to
be afraid. We'll work out all right, you know."
"Yes."
"It's not just the thing to leave a lady in the rain when you take her
for a walk, but it can't be helped.
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