But in a moment Lucina spoke, and her voice, though a little tremulous, was full of the utmost sweetness of kindness.
"I fear you are too tired to walk home with me," she said, "and I am not afraid to go by myself." "No, it is too dark for you to go alone; I am not tired," replied Jerome, quickly, and almost roughly, to hide the tumult of his heart.
But Lucina did not understand that.

"I am not afraid," she repeated, in a little, grieved, and anxious way; "please leave me at the turn of the road, I am truly not afraid." "No, it is too dark for you to go alone," said Jerome, hoarsely, again.

It came to him that he should offer her his arm, but he dared not trust his voice for that.

He reached down, caught her hand, and thrust it through his arm, thinking, with a thrill of terror as he did so, that she would draw it away, but she did not.
She leaned so slightly on his arm that it seemed more the inclination of spirit than matter, but still she accepted his support and walked along easily at his side.

So far from her resenting his summary taking of her hand, she was grateful, with the humble gratitude of the primeval woman for the kindness of a master whom she has made wroth.
Lucina had attributed Jerome's stiffness at sight of her, and his delay in accompanying her home, to her unkind treatment of him.