They went away by the path that led to Helpholme, and little was said between them till they had walked some mile together. Patience, as she went along the path, remembered almost to the letter the sweet words which had greeted her ears as she came down that way with him on the night of his arrival; but he remembered nothing of that sweetness then. Had he not made an ass of himself during these last six months? That was the thought which very much had possession of his mind.
“Patience,” he said at last, having hitherto spoken only an indifferent word now and again since they had left the parsonage, “Patience, I hope you realise the importance of the step which you and I are about to take?”
“Of course I do,” she answered. “What an odd question that is for you to ask!”
“Because,” said he, “sometimes I almost doubt it. It seems to me as though you thought you could remove yourself from here to your new home with no more trouble than when you go from home up to the Combe.”
“Is that meant for a reproach, John?”
“No, not for a reproach, but for advice. Certainly not for a reproach.”
“I am glad of that.”
“But I should wish to make you think how great is the leap in the world which you are about to take.” Then again they walked on for many steps before she answered him.
“Tell me, then, John,” she said, when she had sufficiently considered what words she should speak; and as she spoke a bright colour suffused her face, and her eyes flashed almost with anger. “What leap do you mean? Do you mean a leap upwards?”
“Well, yes; I hope it will be so.”