"For God's sake don't say that! Don't send me away this morning with those words buzzing in my ears!" Great tears flashed into his eyes,--his face paled and contracted as with acutest agony.
"I'm sorry, Tom," faltered Miss Tranter, herself quite overcome by his fierce emotion--"I didn't mean----" "Yes--yes!--that's right! Say you didn't mean it!" muttered Tom, with a pained smile--"You didn't---- ?" "I didn't mean it!" declared Miss Tranter earnestly.

"Upon my word I didn't, Tom!" He loosened his hold of her arm.
"Thank you! God bless you!" and a shudder ran through his massive frame.
"But it's all one with the dark hour!--all one with the wicked tongue of a dream that whispers to me of a coming storm!" He pulled his rough cap over his brows, and strode forward a step or two.

Then he suddenly wheeled round again, and doffed the cap to Miss Tranter.
"It's unlucky to turn back," he said, "yet I'm doing it, because--because--I wouldn't have you think me sullen or ill-tempered with _you_! Nor ungrateful.

You're a good woman, for all that you're a bit rough sometimes.

If you want to know where we are, we've camped down by Cleeve, and we're on the way to Dunster.