“I do not tell you this,” she said, quickly and excitedly. “No, that is impossible. I could not be his wife: I must not be yours.”
“You are speaking in riddles.”
“Riddles that you can easily read,” she said sadly. “Chris, my life is marked out for me. I have my duties waiting. I cannot, I will not marry a man I do not love, but I will not disobey my poor dead father and listen to you. Good-bye now—I can bear no more. Some day we can meet again patiently and calmly as in the happy old times.”
“Yes,” he said, with the angry feeling passing away, “I shall wait contented, for you will not marry this man—you promise me that?”
“Claude, dear; Claude.”
They had neither of them given Mary a thought, and she had discreetly walked away but to return now quickly, and as they raised their eyes it was to see her close at hand, and some fifty yards away Parry Glyddyr advancing fast.
Claude saw that Glyddyr looked white and strange, but it was the rage in Chris Lisle’s eyes which startled her, as Glyddyr strode up, with extended hand, ignoring the presence of her companion.
“Claude, don’t leave them alone, as there’ll be trouble,” whispered Mary, and her cousin’s words seemed to cast a lurid light upon the situation.
She did not give Glyddyr her hand, but turned to Chris and said gently—
“Good-bye. It will be better that we should not meet again—not yet.”