"Stay; you will come and see us, Mr. Halifax? Promise!"
"If you wish it."
"And promise, too, that under all circumstances you will tell me, as you did this morning, the 'plain truth'? Yes, I see you will. Good-bye."
The iron gates closed upon her, and against us. We took our silent way up to the Mythe to our favourite stile. There we leaned—still in silence, for many minutes.
"The wind is keen, Phineas; you must be cold."
Now I could speak to him—could ask him to tell me of his pain.
"It is so long since you have told me anything. It might do you good."
"Nothing can do me good. Nothing but bearing it. My God! what have I not borne! Five whole months to be dying of thirst, and not a drop of water to cool my tongue."
He bared his head and throat to the cutting wind—his chest heaved, his eyes seemed in a flame.
"God forgive me!—but I sometimes think I would give myself body and soul to the devil for one glimpse of her face, one touch of her little hand."