“And so you have come, ma mignonette, at the dead of night—­at the risk of your reputation—­and mine—­”

Toby made an excruciating grimace, and broke impulsively in upon him.  “It wasn’t the dead of night when I started.  I’ve been waiting hours—­hours.  But it doesn’t matter.  I’ve found you—­at last.  And you can’t send me away now—­like you did before—­because—­because—­well, I’ve no one to go to.  You might have done it if you’d come down earlier.  But you can’t do it—­now.”  Her voice thrilled on a high note of triumph.  “You’ve got to keep me—­now.  I’ve come—­to stay.”

“What?” said Saltash.  He bent towards her, looking closely into her face.  “Got to keep you, have I?  What’s that mean?  Has Bunny been a brute to you?  I could have sworn I’d made him understand.”

She laughed in answer.  “Bunny!  I didn’t wait to see him!”

“What?” Saltash said again.

She reached up a quick, nervous hand and laid it against his breast.  Her eyes, wide and steadfast, never flinched from his.  “I’ve come—­to stay,” she repeated.  And then, after a moment, “It’s all right.  I left a note behind for Bunny.  I told him I wasn’t going back.”

He caught her hand tightly into his.  His hold was drawing her, and she yielded herself to it still with that quivering laughter that was somehow more eloquent than words, more piteous than tears.

Saltash spoke, below his breath.  “What am I going to do with you?” he said.

Her arms reached up to him suddenly.  Perhaps it was that for which she had waited.  “You’re going—­to keep me—­this time,” she told him tremulously.  “Oh, why did you ever send me away—­when I belonged to you—­and to no one else?  You meant to give me my chance?  What chance have I of anything but hell and damnation away from you?  No, listen!  Let me speak!  Hear me first!” She uttered the words with passionate insistence.  “I’m not asking anything of you—­only to be with you.  I’ll be to you whatever you choose me to be—­always—­always.  I will be your valet, your slave, your—­plaything.  I will be—­the dust under your feet.  But I must be with you.  You understand me.  No one else does.  No one else ever can.”

“Are you sure you understand yourself?” Saltash said.

His arms had closed about her.  He was holding her in a vital clasp.  But his restless look did not dwell upon her.  It seemed rather to be seeking something beyond.

Toby’s hands met and gripped each other behind his neck.  She clung to him with an almost frenzied closeness.

“You can’t send me away!” she told him brokenly.  “If you do, I shall die.  And I’m asking such a little—­such a very little.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking, child,” he said, and though he held her fast pressed to him his voice had the sombre ring of a man who battles with misgiving.  “You have never known.  That’s the hell of it.”