“Why not? Something has happened? Won’t you tell me what it is?”
There was a pause. Then she gave his hand an affectionate, clinging pressure.
“Never mind, Bram. You needn’t tell me unless you like. I don’t mind anything when you’re here. You won’t go away, will you?”
The loving tone, the caressing manner, stirred his heart to the depths. Surely this tender trust was her own real feeling for him, suddenly revealed, free from all restraints of prudence, of necessary coldness. What did it mean? Was this the woman who had ruined her life for another man, this girl who looked at him with innocent eyes full of love, who seemed to be thrilled with pleasure at the touch of his fingers? Was this the woman who had struggled with Christian in the shadow of the great works two hours before, whose mad passion of hate and revenge had given her fragile limbs power to fling him down on the railway line? Bram sat in a state of wild revolt from the terrible ideas, which had, indeed, till that moment seemed real, inevitable enough. What was the miracle that had happened? What was the explanation of it all? While he still asked himself those questions, with his head on fire, his heart nigh to bursting, the soft, girlish voice spoke again.
“Bram, what was the difficulty? There was a difficulty, wasn’t there? Only I can’t remember what it was. Why was it that you stayed away? That you didn’t come here as you used to? You don’t know what a long time it seemed, and how I used to long for you to come back again! Why, I used to watch for you when I knew it was time for you to go past, and I used to kiss my hand to you behind the curtains, so that you couldn’t see me! But why—why didn’t I want you to see me, Bram? I can’t remember.”
“Oh, my darling!” burst from Bram’s lips in spite of himself.
That one word was answer enough for her. She smiled happily up into his face, and closed her eyes, as if it hurt her to keep them open, the lids falling heavily. Bram wished—he almost prayed—that they could both die that moment; that neither might ever have to live through the terrible time which was in store for them. The delirium which had so mercifully descended upon her overwrought mind had shut out the horrible secrets of the past from Claire.
As Bram sat, as still as a statue lest he should disturb her by a movement, he heard the sound of footsteps outside, and a moment later the door was burst open, and Mr. Biron, pale, haggard, dripping with rain, begrimed with mud, a horrible spectacle of fear and terror, stole into the room, and shutting the door, bolted it, and then sank in a heap on the floor, with his eyes turned in a ghastly panic of alarm towards the window.