"I forgot, that was it. I was thinking of another thing."
The time came at length when he had altered so that when he went out his mother and Christian often sat up together half the night trembling with a fear neither of them would have put into words. As they sat trying to talk, each would glance at the other stealthily, and when their eyes met, each would start as if with some guilty thought.
On one of the worst and most dreadful of nights, Christian suddenly rose from her seat, crossed the hearth and threw herself upon her knees before her companion.
"I am going out," she said. "Don't—don't try to keep me."
"It is midnight," said Mrs. Murdoch, "and—you don't know where to go."
"Yes," the girl returned, "I do. For God's sake, let me go! I cannot bear it."
The woman gave her a long look, and then said a strange and cruel thing.
"You had better stay where you are. It is not you he wants."
"No," she said bitterly, "it is not I he wants; but I can find him and make sure—that—he will come back. And then you will go to sleep." She left her in spite of her efforts to detain her. She was utterly fearless, and went into the night as if there was no such thing as peril on earth.