She dropped me a formal curtsey as she spoke. I did not want the urgent appeal of her eyes to take her meaning. My heart rose to it with a spring.
"I will have a carriage made ready for you," I replied; and I turned me to the window. "Yes, I am afraid that it will rain."
"Thank you!" she said.
And I, like the blundering fool I was, must needs, in my great joy, add:
"It is no long journey into Keswick, after all"
"Keswick!" says she with a start, and drops her eyes. "I had not thought of that. I had not thought where I should go to."
I stood before her dumb. I knew—yes, I knew that the only place for her was that little apartment in Keswick. Grant her but the sight of it, and the sight of her husband in it—for he loved her—and, well, it needed no magician to forecast the result. But there was one person in the world who could not use that argument—myself. However, she helped me out.
"I cannot go back," she said, "without he knows. It would not be just No! it is not possible;" and at that the tears came at last. The sound of her weeping pierced me like a sword.
"He shall know, then," I cried. "He shall know. I myself will ride to Keswick and tell him."
"You will?" she asked, suddenly lifting her head.