“For goodness’ sake, Laker, don’t go trailing after me like a broken bootlace! I’m a bundle of nerves to-night, and not fit to speak to—the snow, I suppose.” She shivered, looking almost fearfully at the inky spectres of the avenue flung upon the sinister white of the hill. “How near it is! Somehow it makes me feel as if I couldn’t breathe. Life can make you feel like that, too; as if you’d fastened yourself into your coffin, and couldn’t get out.”
“And couldn’t—couldn’t get out!” she repeated, beating her hands on the frosty pane; and the next instant had opened the hall-door and was half-way down the steps before he realised that she had gone. Springing after her, he caught her arm and drew her back forcibly into the warmth.
“What’s the matter with you to-night, Nettie? You’re not a bit like yourself! This isn’t the weather for moonlight walks, and I can’t have you catching your death of cold while you’re in my charge. Come and sit by the fire, and let us talk.”
He struck the log with his foot, sending up a shower of sparks, but she drew away from him, and back again to the door. He looked at her in surprise. He had never seen her like this—her eyes wide, every nerve tensely strung.
“I’m going out!” she said quickly. “Don’t try to stop me. I’m not ragging, Youngest One—I must go! Yes, fetch me something to put on, like an old dear, only be quick about it.”
He brought a coat and a scarf and wrapped her in them, and gave her his hand down the slippery steps; but when he would have come further she checked him imperatively.
“I’m going alone,” she said, pushing him gently from her, “so scoot back at once, Laker child! I’m not going far, and I’m going alone. I shan’t take any harm, so don’t get excited, and if you dare to sit and freeze on the steps, I’ll leave Crump to-morrow! I can’t stop in the house to-night, and that’s all there is about it. It’s full of Slinker from garret to cellar, and I just can’t bear it. Couldn’t you feel him at dinner—that awful ghost-walk of a dinner? I wondered how you could sit in your chair and swallow your port! He was there all the time—just shrieking to come back! Oh, Christian!—suppose he should?”
He took her hand again, looking at her with concern.
“Why, Nettie, there’s certainly something very wrong with you! Come back into the house and sing something, and let’s be happy. There is nothing to be afraid of. How could there be anything to be afraid of on Christmas Eve?”
She clung to his fingers, staring up at the house.