When he spoke again it was in his even, controlled voice, taking up the subject they had talked of earlier under the wistaria, and telling her of the arrangements he had made. The doctor had suggested the sea voyage for Philip and had also urged his being put under the care of a specialist at once. He had taken the liberty of engaging passage for them on the Etruria, the steamer on which the doctor sailed. But this was conditional, of course.
He waited a moment, but she did not speak, and he went on rather hurriedly to explain that he had done this because he knew the staterooms might all be taken if he waited to communicate with her. It was only by their having been surrendered that he had been able to get these. He hoped he had not offended her by his action in the matter. They could be given up at any moment by telegram.
She shook her head, not taking down her sheltering hand. She had heard this last as one hears in a dream,—thinking dully that this was the end. During her contest with him she had been nerved to fight; now that it was over she felt strengthless—nerves in collapse. When he had spoken of her "pitiful quest" she seemed to see a dreary stretch of road before her that had no end. She and Philip were on it, toiling along, going she knew not where, stumbling, falling sometimes but getting up and struggling on—and Richard behind them stretching out his hands!
If—if—oh, that would be a shameful thing! ... the man that had stolen her child! ... a monstrous thing! Then something rose up within her and contended fiercely, "But it is your life!" What? ... give up now? ... make complete surrender, and in such a way?... Oh, no. She would be stronger when he was gone. The shock of it had unnerved her. That was all.
She got up then and stood before him, her head thrown back in its old way, meaning to thank him courteously and in conventional phrase for what he had done, speaking in the effusive fashion which says so much and means so little, "You are very kind. We will take the staterooms and go at once. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness." Thus would she build up the broken-down wall that must always be between them.
But when she stood before him and looked into his stern set face, remembering all he had said to her, somehow the road stretched out interminably before her, and—
What she did was to reach out weak hands to him, saying brokenly,
"Richard! I cannot go—without you."
"Margaret!... Margaret!"