She held out her hands to him in a wild, unconsciously theatrical gesture. The whole scene had been theatrical through its very incongruousness, and Murdoch had seen this vaguely, and been more shaken by it than anything else.
Before she knew what he meant to do, he approached the table, and replaced the model in its box, the touch of stubborn desperateness on him yet. He carried the case back to the trunk, and shut it in once more.
"I'll let it rest a while," he said; "I'll promise you that. If it is ever to be finished by me, the time will come when it will see the light again, in spite of us both."
CHAPTER X. CHRISTIAN MURDOCH.
As he was turning into the gate of the Works the next morning, a little lad touched him upon the elbow.
"Mester," he said, "sithee, Mester,—stop a bit."
He was out of breath, as if he had been running, and he held in his hand a slip of paper.
"I thowt I should na ketch thee," he said, "tha'rt so long-legged. A woman sent thee that," and he gave him the slip of paper.