“You chose Crump!” he repeated doggedly. “All the wishing in the world won’t change it. You’re Crump, now, and Crump you must bide till you die.” He moved forward. “They’ll be missing you at the Hall. I’ll set you back.”
But she caught his arm, brave through her confidence in the man’s fine nature and his faithful love.
“Ah, don’t turn me away! It’s my home for all you may say—mine as well as yours. I belong to you and to Dockerneuk, though I never knew it until it was too late. You’ll take me back, Anthony—you’ll take me back?”
He gathered her cold hands into his warm ones.
“I’ve thought the world of you always,” he said. “Your place was ready for you ever after I had once set eyes on you. I could scarce bring myself to bolt the door of a night because it seemed to shut you out, and yet the house had you in every corner. I used to sit of an evening, and think I heard you laugh—you were so close. And in the morning, when I came in from the shippons, I’d look to see your face at the window. But when you married Lyndesay, you shut the door yourself, and I never saw your shadow in the old place again. You went into a different world, and I couldn’t follow you. You’re Crump now, and you’ll never be Dockerneuk no more. You’ve learned quality’s ways such as I never learned—fine talk and fine manners, dinners, carriages and footmen. What-like would farm-life seem to you, now? You’ve had a gentleman to your husband—a liar and a wastrel, happen, but a Lyndesay and quality for all that. Dixon of Dockerneuk’s not quality, and you’d remember it—ay, and I’d know you remembered! It would be hell for both of us. If once you’re quit of your own folk, there’s never any getting back in this world, for it’s you that changes, no matter how you may think things look the same. There’s no help—no way out. You left me and Dockerneuk behind you, and all the longing in the world won’t ever bring you home.”
She tightened her clasp on his, and spoke steadily for the first time.
“There’s no change can harm love,” she said. “I didn’t know when I married Stanley, but I knew soon after. I knew that you were the best thing in my life—ah, no!—that you were the whole of it! I married Stanley for Crump, right enough, but when once I saw clear, I never raised a finger to take it. I knew where my real place should have been, by then, and I wouldn’t come. I came when he was dead, because, when once I was free, I couldn’t stop away from you and never see you; just as I’ll stay, Anthony, till you take me in, if I’ve to come begging like a tramp every night to ask it!”
“I can’t believe it!” Dixon’s voice was harsh and troubled. “It’s not likely you’ll ever stoop to me, now. Think what folk’ll say—Dockerneuk after Crump! You’ve got to make me sure it’s right before I’ll take the risk for you. I’ll not snatch at what I want, and be hated for it all my days. I couldn’t bide that—to see you eating out your heart for things I couldn’t give you. You’re Mrs. Lyndesay’s darling, nowadays, they say. She’ll find another Lyndesay for you, likely, or some other of the quality.” The first touch of bitterness crept into his voice. “I can’t think you’d ever be happy with me. ’Tisn’t in reason. You’ve got to prove it.”
“How can I prove it better than by being here to-night?” she asked piteously. “Did you ever know Nettie Stone go on her knees before?”
“It’s not enough,” he answered, loosing her hands, and a cloud went over the moon. “It’s not enough! To-night’s to-night, but there’s half a lifetime to think other in. Only prove it, and you’ll find every stone of Dockerneuk calling for you, but till then we must go our different ways, and bide it as we may.”