"We have been walking a long time, and you have said
nothing. I thought you were displeased."
"You must forgive me. I am often silent."
"I thought you were displeased," she repeated. "I think that you were,
though you hardly knew it. I should be very sorry if you were angry."
"Why would you be sorry?" asked the Wanderer with a civil indifference
that hurt Unorna more than any acknowledgment of his displeasure could
have done.
"Because I would help you, if you would let me."
He looked at her with sudden keenness. In spite of herself she blushed
and turned her head away. He hardly noticed the fact, and, if he had,
would assuredly not have put upon it any interpretation approaching to
the truth. He supposed that she was flushed with walking.
"No one has ever helped me, least of all in the way you mean," he said.
"The counsels of wise men--of the wisest--have been useless, as well as
the dreams of women who fancy they have the gift of mental sight beyond
the limit of bodily vision."
"Who fancy they see!" exclaimed Unorna, almost glad to find that she was
still strong enough to feel annoyance at the slight.
"I beg your pardon. I do not mean to doubt your powers, of which I have
had no experience."
"I did not offer to see for you. I did not offer you a dream."
"Would you show me that which I already see, waking and sleeping? Would
you bring to my hearing the sound of a voice which I can hear even now?
I need no help for that.
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