He was right in his estimate, though they had to hasten their footsteps to gain shelter, for almost as soon as they had reached the top of the wall the lightning blazed out, and the thunder crashed at the same moment. Meriel had been on the verge of hysteria. The atmospheric tumult had come at a time when her nerves were shattered; she wanted to shriek, but her muscles seemed to fail her.
"A near thing," said Guy. The equability of his voice gave Meriel renewed confidence. She looked up at his face and wondered that it was flushed with delight. She stumbled, Guy's hand steadied her. He caught her up in his arms, and carried her onwards. She felt a delicious sense of safety, and immediately the thought followed—he is a thief. They came to the lawn gate, and he set her on her feet.
She forgot the storm. She laid her hand on his arm. "Tell me it is untrue," she cried.
He took both her hands in his. "I love you, Meriel," he said simply. "I wish I could say, 'Yes, it is untrue,' but I cannot." He took her arm, and hurried her across the lawn until they stood beneath the porch. There, with one piteous glance, she left him without another word.
His eyes followed her along the passage, then he turned and went out into the storm. He was the only living thing abroad, and he rejoiced in the solitude. He had no fear of the revolting elements. Their mood suited his. He would have welcomed the flash which should scar his body, even as the lightning of his emotions had seared his soul. He had told himself that his story would kill the love that he had seen springing up in Meriel's heart, but all the while he had hoped that it would survive the stroke he would deal at the root. How much he had hoped, he had not realised until he saw the anguish on her face, until he saw that she had shrunk from him. He could have borne anger, taunts even, but silence—the silence of contempt, for so he translated Meriel's attitude—that filled him with bitterness. There was no hope for him. He was overwhelmed with youth's Byronic despair. Heedless of his path, he went onward. The thunder crashed, later the rain fell, but he pressed onwards blindly.
The awakening came when the storm, passing away, gave place to a golden sunset. Guy found himself far away from sight of human habitation, with the sea on one hand and on the other the saltings stretching away to the horizon. The passing of the storm brought no renewal of hope to him. He was wearied mentally and physically. He knew the direction in which Whitsea lay, and he turned his face towards it.
It was dark by the time he arrived at the Hall, and he heard the dinner gong as he entered the door. He did not obey his first impulse to shirk facing the inmates of the house. He threw off his rain-sodden clothes, and put on conventional dinner attire so swiftly that he was ready before the second gong sounded.
"Meriel will not be down," said Mrs. Marven, as he entered the drawing-room. "The storm has given her a headache. I am so sorry, as it is your last evening."
Guy could only murmur something unintelligible while he told himself bitterly that the girl would not even look upon him.