“Yes, I suppose you’ve got to go,” he said.  “But—­there’s nothing to prevent me following you, is there?”

She quivered from head to foot.  That hand upon her shoulder sent such a tumult of emotions through her that she could not collect her thoughts in any coherent order.  “I—­I don’t know,” she whispered, bending her head still lower.  “They—­I don’t know what they would say at home.”

“Your people?” His hand was drawing her now with an insistent pressure that would not be denied.  “They’d probably dance on their heads with delight,” he said, his tone one of slightly supercilious humour.  “I assure you I am considered something of a catch by a good many anxious mammas.”

She started at that, started and straightened herself, lifting shy eyes to his.  “Oh, but we’ve only been—­playing,” she said rather uncertainly.  “Just—­just pretending to flirt, that’s all.”

He laughed, bending his handsome, imperious face to hers.  “It’s been a fairly solid pretence, hasn’t it?” he said.  “But I’m proposing something slightly different now.  I’m offering you my hand—­as well as my heart.”

Dinah was trembling all over.  She gasped for breath, drawing back slightly from the nearness of his lips.  “Do you mean—­you’d like—­to marry me?” she whispered tremulously, and hid her face on the instant; for the bald words sounded preposterous.

He laughed again, softly, half-mockingly, and drew her into his arms.  “Whatever made you think of that, my elf of the mountains?  I’ll vow it came into your head first.  Ah, you needn’t hide your eyes from me.  I know you’re mine—­all mine.  I’ve known it from the first—­ever since you began to run away.  But I’ve caught you now.  Haven’t I?  Haven’t I?”

She clung to him desperately.  It seemed the only way; for she was for the moment swept off her feet, terribly afraid of arousing that storm of passion which had so overwhelmed her the night before.  Instinct warned her what to expect if she attempted to withdraw herself.  Moreover, the tumult of her feeling was such that she did not want to do so.  She wanted only to hide her head for a space, and be still.

He pressed her close, still laughing at her shyness.  “What a good thing I’m not shy!” he said.  “If I were, to-day would be the end of everything instead of the beginning.  Can’t you bring yourself to look at your new possession?  Did you think you could laugh and run away for all time?”

Then, as in muffled accents she besought him to be patient with her, he softened magically and for the first time spoke of love.

“Don’t you know you have wrenched the very heart out of me, you little brown witch?  I loved you from the very first moment of our dance together.  You’ve been too much for me all through.  I had to have you.  I simply had to have you.”

She trembled afresh at his words, but she clung closer.  If the fear deepened, so also did the fascination.  She tried to picture him as hers—­hers, and failed.  He was so fine, so splendid, so much too big for her.