He kept repeating his ridiculous `` shorry '' until he was out of the grove . Then he turned and ran stumblingly across the field . Roger did not follow ; he went back to Isabel Temple 's grave . The girl was lying across it ; he thought she was unconscious . He stooped and picked her up -- she was light and small , but she was warm flesh and blood ; she clung uncertainly to him for a moment and he felt her breath on his face . He did not speak -- he was too sick at heart . She did not speak either . He did not think this strange until afterwards . He was incapable of thinking just then ; he was dazed , wretched , lost . Presently he became aware that she was timidly pulling his arm . It seemed that she wanted him to go with her -- she was evidently frightened of that brute -- he must take her to safety . And then -- She moved on down the little path and he followed . Out in the moonlit field he saw her clearly . With her drooping head , her flowing dark hair , her great brown eyes , she looked like the nymph of a wood-brook , a haunter of shadows , a creature sprung from the wild . But she was mortal maid , and he -- what a fool he had been ! Presently he would laugh at himself , when this dazed agony should clear away from his brain . He followed her down the long field to the bay shore . Now and then she paused and looked back to see if he were coming , but she never spoke . When she reached the shore road she turned and went along it until they came to an old grey house fronting the calm grey harbour . At its gate she paused .
XXXXX knew now who she was .
Roger Temple arm brain girl harbour haunter maid shorry wood-brook