This is our marriage."

She drew back. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you a feeling for such images? We'll go before a parson--don't
be afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you too much for that.
Why, Sylvie, what's wrong?"

When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her face
to his arm and began to cry.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't know.... But please don't kiss me like that,
not like that!"

He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for him,
found him and clung.

"Hugh, don't be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhaps
it's because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait.
Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don't understand? You're angry?
But I can't explain it any better."

"You can lay your hand on me," he said hoarsely. "God knows I'm real
enough." And he thought so! "My love for you is here like a granite
block, Sylvie."

"I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I know
you--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little, Hugh.
Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog will lift.
Then we'll really be on top of the mountain." 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.

"Yo