He came toward her. He put his hands on hers. He looked eagerly in her eyes. He did not hesitate now; the man's nature was roused in him. He must make her speak,—say that she cared.
"Don't you care? Bel—you do! You are my little wife; and the world has not anything to do with it!"
She broke away from him; she shrunk back.
"Don't do that," he said, imploringly. "I'm not bad, Bel. The world is bad. Let us be as good and loving as we can be in it. Don't think me bad."
There was not anything bad in his eyes; in his young, loving, handsome face. Bel was not sure enough,—strong enough,—to denounce the evil that was using the love; to say to that which was tempting him, and her by him, as Peter's passionate remonstrance tempted the Christ,—"Thou art Satan. Get thee behind me."
Yet she shrunk, bewildered.
"I don't know; I can't understand. Let me go now Mr. Hewland."
She turned away from him, into the chamber, and reached her hand to the door as she turned, putting her fingers on its edge to close it after him. She stood with her back to him; listening, not looking, for him to go.
He retreated, then, lingeringly, across the threshold, his eyes upon her still. She shut the door slowly, walking backward as she pushed it to. She had left, if not driven the devil behind her. Yet she did not know what she had done. She was still bewildered. I believe the worst she thought of what had happened was that he wanted to marry her secretly, and hide her away.
"Aunt Blin!" she cried, when she felt herself all alone. "Aunt Blin!—She can't have gone so very far away, quite yet!"