And you frightened me last night; I tried to tell you--for your own sake; I was terrified, and I told you what I have never before told a living soul--that dreadful, hopeless, nightmare thing--to drive you out of my--my regard--and me from yours." His face whitened a little under its tan, but the flat jaw muscles tightened doggedly.
"I don't understand--yet," he said.

"And when you tell me--for you will tell me sooner or later--it will not change me." "It _must_!" He shook his head.
She said in desperation: "You cannot care for me too much because you know that I am--not free." "Cannot ?" He laughed mirthlessly.

"I _am_ caring for you--loving you--every second more and more." "That is dishonourable," she faltered.
"Why ?" "You _know_!" "Yes.

But if it does not change me how can I help it ?" "You can help making me care for _you_!" His heart was racing now; every vein ran fiery riot.
"Is there a chance of _that_, Shiela ?" She did not answer, but the tragedy in her slowly lifted eyes appalled him.

Then a rushing confusion of happiness and pain almost stupefied him.
"You must not be afraid," he managed to say while the pulse hammered in his throat, and the tumult of his senses deadened his voice to a whisper.
"I am afraid." They were near the wagon now; both dismounted under the pines while Bulow came forward to picket their horses.