"I am not tired." He trudged on. He would show her that if he had not
been able to mount her on her horse, at least it was not from lack
of strength.

"Please put me down; it pains me," she said guilefully. He stopped
instantly, and selecting a clear place, seated her softly.

"I beg your pardon. I was a brute, thinking only of myself."

He seated himself near her, and stole a glance at her face. Their eyes
met, and he looked away. He thought her quite beautiful.

To break the silence, she asked, a little tone of politeness coming into
her voice: "May I inquire what your name is? I am Miss Yorke--Miss Alice
Yorke," she added, intending to make him feel at ease.

"Gordon Keith is my name. Where are you from?" His manner was again
perfectly easy.

"From New York."

"I thought you were."

She fancied that a little change came over his face and into his manner,
and she resented it. She looked down the hill. Without a word he rose
and started to lift her again. She made a gesture of dissent. But before
she could object further, he had lifted her again, and, with steady eyes
bent on the stony path, was picking his way down the steep hill.