"You promise?" she exclaimed, not harshly, but with stern significance. "How can you use such words? Under what circumstances could I put faith in a promise of yours, Reuben?"
He struck violently at the trunk of a tree, and his cane broke; then he flung it away, still more passionately.
"You're right enough. What do I care? I lie more often than I tell the truth. I have a sort of pride in it. If a man is to be a liar, let him be a thorough one.—Do you know why I smashed the stick? I had a devilish temptation to strike you across the face with it. That would have been nice, wouldn't it?"
"You had better go your own way, Reuben, and let me go mine."
She drew apart, and not without actual fear of him, so brutal he looked, and so strangely coarse had his utterance become.
"You needn't be afraid. If I had hit you, I'd have gone away and killed myself; so perhaps it's a pity I didn't. I felt a savage hatred of you, and just because I wanted you to take my hand and be gentle with me. I suppose you can't understand that? You haven't gone deep enough into life."
His voice choked, and Miriam saw tears start from his eyes.
"I hope I never may," she answered gently. "Have done with all that, and talk to me like yourself, Reuben."
"Talk! I've had enough of talking. I want to rest somewhere, and be quiet."
"Then come home with me."