Claire said nothing. She seemed to be petrified with shame, and scarcely to feel the cold without from the suffering within. It was pitiful to see her. Bram, long as he had thought over the poor child and her desolate situation, suffered new agonies on finding how deep her anguish was. A sense of unspeakable degradation seemed to possess her, to make every glance of her eyes furtive, every movement constrained.
“I will come,” she said humbly, in a voice which was hoarse from exposure.
“Of course you will come,” retorted Bram good-humoredly. “And put your best foot foremost too, for——”
She interrupted him hastily, coldly.
“But let me go alone, please. Thank you for coming; it was very good of you. But I want to go alone. And I want you not to come to see us at the farm. If you do——” Her voice grew stronger as Bram tried to protest, and suddenly she raised her head, and looked at him with a flash of excitement in her eyes. “If you do, I shall kill myself!”
“Very well,” said Bram quietly. “Good-bye, then.”
He jumped the stone steps, offering the assistance of his hand, which she declined. And he crossed the rough ground quickly, and went through the roofless church on his way back to Chelmsley.
Perhaps Claire’s heart smote her for her ungraciousness. At any rate, when he glanced back, after climbing over the fence, he saw that she must have followed him very quickly, for she was only a few yards away. There was a look in her eyes, now that she was caught unawares, which was like a stab to his tender heart.
He stopped. She stopped also, and made a movement as if to turn back to run away. He checked her by an imploring gesture.
“You will come, really come; you’ve promised, haven’t you?” said he.