“That’s how it is with me, Avery,” he said.  “The fates have played a ghastly joke on me, but you are mine in spite of it.  You came to tell me so; didn’t you?”

Was there a note of pleading in his voice?  She fancied so; but still she could not speak in answer.  She leaned against him with every pulse throbbing.  She dared not turn her face to his.

“Are you afraid of me, Avery?” he said, and this time surely she heard a faint echo of that boyish humour that had first won her.  “Because it’s all right, dear,” he told her softly.  “I’ve got myself in hand now.  You know, I couldn’t hold you in my arms just then and not—­not kiss you.  You don’t hate me for it, do you?  You—­understand?”

Yes, she understood.  Yet she felt as if he had raised a barrier between them which nothing could ever take away.  She tried to ignore it, but could not.  The glaring fact that he had not cared how much or how little she had desired those savage kisses of his had begun already to torment her, and she knew that she would carry the scorching memory of those moments with her for the rest of her life.

She drew herself slowly from him.  “I am going now,” she said.

He put out a hand that trembled and laid it on her shoulder.  “If I will let you go, Avery!” he said, and she was again aware of the leaping of the flame that had scarcely died down but a moment before.

She straightened herself and resolutely faced him.  “I am going, Piers,” she said.

His hand tightened sharply.  He caught his breath for a few tense seconds.  Then very slowly his hold relaxed; his hand fell.  “You will let me see you back,” he said, and she knew by his voice that he was putting strong force upon himself.

She turned.  “No.  I will go alone.”

He did not move.  “Please, Avery!” he said.

Her heart gave a quick throb at the low-spoken words.  She paused almost involuntarily, realizing with a great rush of thankfulness that he would not stir a step to follow unless she gave him leave.

For an instant she stood irresolute.  Then:  “Come if you wish!” she said.

She heard him move, and herself passed on, descending the steps into the dewy garden with again that odd feeling of unreality, almost as if she walked in a dream.

He came behind her, silent as a shadow, and not till she deliberately waited for him did he overtake and walk beside her.

No words passed between them as they went.  They seemed to move through a world of shadows,—­a spell-bound, waiting world.  And gradually, as if a soothing hand had been laid upon her, Avery felt the wild tumult at her heart subside.  She remembered that he had refrained himself almost at her first word, and slowly her confidence came back.  He had appealed to her to understand, and she could not let his appeal go wholly unanswered.

As they passed at length through the gate that led into the Vicarage lane, she spoke.  “Piers, I am not angry.”