"I would rather wait. I can't stand anything more, yet. I want to think it out. I am too puzzled and I am fighting against this too hard, now. Let me get hold of myself first. Perhaps we can get down without his hearing us, if we wait a little while. He has gone to his room."
"That's the best way, if we can. There'll be a scene—and I am not ready for that, either. I will tell him later—or you may."
"No, it should be you. How can I talk to him?"
"I can't tell how he'll take it. I'm sure, now, that he has been looking for me—for Madam Grant's child—for some time, and Vixley was undoubtedly leading him on, promising to find his son. But now, when he knows it is I, after the way he has treated me, how will he feel?"
"Oh, be sure he will be kind!"
"It doesn't matter much. I shall not trouble him. I shall go away, of course."
"Oh, I can't bear it! I can't give you up! Oh, I'm sure it isn't right. I can't believe it, even yet!"
"Let's go down!" he said sharply. "I can't stand it any longer. My blood cries out for you! When I think that I have held you in my arms—"
"Yes, come! Don't speak like that or I shall forget everything else."
He took the candle and lighted her down the steps, then followed her quietly. Together they crept along the hall and down the stairway to the lower hall. As they got there, the cuckoo-clock hiccoughed, five minutes before the hour.