" She laughed,
but rather sadly.
"I will always hate this mountain-top," he said. "I used to love it.
I was so close to happiness, and now you've snatched it out of my
reach." He drew in sobbing breaths.
"No--it's myself I'm keeping from happiness, not you," she answered.
"I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh,
be patient." She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her
lips. "Please be patient. Let's go down out of this wind. I can't
see your world, and I'm cold."
So, in silence--a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the valley.
CHAPTER IX
They came down the hill rapidly and carelessly. Hugh, stung by pain
and anger, threw himself over the rocks, and Sylvie was too proud
to show her timidity or to ask for help. She crept and climbed up
and down, saving herself with groping hand, letting one foot test
the distances before she put the other down. At last the rattle of
his progress sounded so far below that she quavered: "Aren't you
going to wait for me, Hugh?"
He stopped short, and for a moment watched her silently; then, smitten
by the pathos of her progress--a little child, she seemed, against
the mountain toppling so close behind her--he came swinging up to
her and gave her his hand.
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