At that she glanced up at him like a frightened child.
“Don’t—don’t be angry with me!” her looks said plainly.
“Betty?” he asked, reproachfully.
“Grandfather went on first,” she whispered, “and I was to follow.”
“Why? Why didn’t you go with him?”
At that her tears came thick and fast. She shook before him, trying to repress them.
“You can’t go that long way by yourself,” he said, more gently. “Why did you remain behind?”
He had to bend his head to catch the hurried, sobbing answer.
“I wanted to see you—only to see you and not be seen. You have been away—have kept away so long. Have I vexed you? It was what I thought was right. But I’m weak to hold by all I resolved. I only wanted to see you, and now I’ll go.”
She moved a quick step towards the gate. He let her retreat a pace or two. For the first time, I think, he realized what he had been doing. He struggled fiercely with himself; but, no, he could not part with her like this.