There arose a certain hue and cry behind him, but he was swiftly beyond detection, a fleeing shadow up the hillside.  And the baffled villagers, returning, found comfort in the reflection that he was doubtless a holy man and that his brief visit would surely entail a blessing.

By the time they arrived at this conclusion, Nick was kneeling by the girl’s side, supporting her while she drank.  The nourishment revived her.  She came to herself, and thanked him.

“You will have some too,” said she anxiously.

And Nick drank also with a laugh and a joke to cloak his eagerness.  That draught of milk was more to him at that moment than the choicest wine of the gods.

He sat down beside her again when he had thus refreshed himself.  He thought that she was drowsy, and was surprised when presently she laid a trembling hand upon his arm.

He bent over her quickly.  “What is it?  Anything I can do?”

She did not shrink from him any longer.  He could but dimly see her face in the strong shadow cast by the moonlight behind the trees.

“I want just to tell you, Nick,” she said faintly, “that you will have to go on without me when the moon sets.  You needn’t mind about leaving me any more.  I shall be dead before the morning comes.  I’m not afraid.  I think I’m rather glad.  I am so very, very tired.”

Her weak voice failed.

Nick was stooping low over her.  He did not speak at once.  He only took the nerveless hand that lay upon his arm and carried it to his lips, breathing for many seconds upon the cold fingers.

When at length he spoke, his tone was infinitely gentle, but it possessed, notwithstanding, a certain quality of arresting force.

“My dear,” he said, “you belong to me now, you know.  You have been given into my charge, and I am not going to part with you.”

She did not resist him or attempt to withdraw her hand, but her silence was scarcely the silence of acquiescence.  When she spoke again after a long pause, there was a piteous break in her voice.

“Why don’t you let me die?  I want to die.  Why do you hold me back?”

“Why?” said Nick swiftly.  “Do you really want me to tell you why?”

But there he checked himself with a sharp, indrawn breath.  The next instant he laid her hand gently down.

“You will know some day, Muriel,” he said.  “But for the present you will have to take my reason on trust.  I assure you it is a very good one.”

The restraint of his words was marked by a curious vehemence, but this she was too ill at the time to heed.  She turned her face away almost fretfully.

“Why should I live?” she moaned.  “There is no one wants me now.”

“That will never be true while I live,” Nick answered steadily, and his tone was the tone of a man who registers a vow.

But again she did not heed him.  She had suffered too acutely and too recently to be comforted by promises.  Moreover, she did not want consolation.  She wanted only to shut her eyes and die.  In her weakness she had not fancied that he could deny her this.