ough she had been a field-mouse, responded to
Archelaus because it felt he was so much the male. Phoebe had been
safeguarded all her short life by her notions of gentility and by her
fear, the fear, not of consequences, but, less base than that, the fear
of actual passion, which is often implanted in very passionate girls as
though to guard them till the time comes.

When they reached the first stile Phoebe lifted her skirts and
pattered up to it, stood poised upon its crest, and then, with a little
gasp, yielded to Archelaus's strong arms as he seized her and swung her
down bodily.

"Such a lil' bit of a thing as you be," said Archelaus; "like a lil' cat
in my arms, so soft and all."

They went on, he leading and brushing away the tendrils of bramble and
the tougher branches of furze across the narrow cliff-path. At each
stile he lifted her, only now he picked her up as they approached and
carried her right over them. At the last stile he held her instead of
putting her down when they reached the further side.

"Put me down, Archelaus," she whispered. He still held her, his hands
beneath her armpits, so that they cupped the curve of her breast, her
face just beneath his, her feet dangling.

"I'll have a kiss afore putten 'ee down, then. I've never kissed 'ee
since you was a lil' maid to school."

"No!" said Phoebe; "no!" She did not know why she protested; she had
been kissed with the awkward shy kisses of youth often enough for her
years, but she turned her mouth this way and that to escape his. He went
on holding her in air, though his arms were beginning to tremble a
little with the strain, and simply followed her mouth with his, brushing
it lightly. Suddenly she felt she could bear no longer that easy
mastery, those following lips that passed and repassed over hers and
could so easily have settled if they chose. Why didn't they? She turned
like a little animal, and instead of evading any longer, sank her lips
into his.

She hung there then, helpless indeed; for his mouth, no longer making a
play of hers, held it, bore it down. When he released her he dropped her
on to her feet at the same time. Phoebe turned from him and ran
towards the mill. He followed leisurely, sure of her next action as only
his experience of women could have made him sure, and found her, for all
her flight, waiting for him in the shadow of the door.

"You shouldn't," she murmured. "I had to wait and tell you you
shouldn't. 'Tesn't r