"You knew it and yet never told me?" she cried. "Then you've acted a lie for nearly a year and you've never given a hand to set me free, though you have known how I have longed for it. You call yourself my friend, and yet you've let me live the life of a dog all these years. I call it—"
But while Meg was searching the depths of her brain for a suitable word—a word in which to express all the scorn that she felt for her companion, he had risen, and now stood towering above her and looking down upon her with a dangerous expression in his eyes.
"You don't know what you're saying," he said sternly. "You don't know what it means to me to tell you even now. It's just the killin' of me. But you don't know and don't care. Do you think it means nothin' to me to help to set you free? When I can't come along of you to see you're safe and happy. You'll have no one to look after you and the world's a wicked place."
The look of indignation on the girl's face was giving way to one of tender surprise.
"I didn't know you liked me so well," she said, "or that you'd mind me goin' so much."
He rammed his hands deep; into his pockets and stood looking at her with the reflection of the sunset full on his face. He looked ruddy and strong and good.
"If it wasn't for Steve we'd go away together," he said gravely, "and we'd be married in the first church we came across, and then you'd always have someone to look after you. But I can't leave Steve."
A look of amusement crossed the girl's face and a little laugh escaped her; but it was cut short at the sight of a fierce flash from the blue eyes confronting her. To marry Jem was not her idea of freedom, and was the last thing she wanted to contemplate, but at the sight of the expression which lay in the blue eyes she said meekly—
"I don't think I want to be married yet. Jem dear. I want to be free, you see."
"You should be free."