He walked hurriedly away, and the tears rose to her eyes.
“Poor dear Chris!” she said. “I always seemed to love him as if he were my brother.”
“Who could help liking him, Miss Mary?”
“Sarah?”
“Yes, miss. You were speaking aloud. Ah! poor lad, we don’t often see him about now. Look, miss; Mr Trevithick.”
Mary had already seen the lawyer as he stepped out of the hotel and came towards them slowly, till he appeared to see them suddenly, when he turned sharply upon his heel and went back to the hotel.
Mary crimsoned with mortification, and then felt as if she would sink beneath the weight of her misery. Nearly a fortnight had passed, and her lover had made no sign; and now, when they were on the point of meeting, he had openly avoided her.
Mary’s heart felt as if it sank down into the darkness. There could be but one interpretation, she said. He had repented of the engagement, and his eyes had been opened to what a poor, misshapen little thing she was.
“Sarah!” she whispered hoarsely, “I cannot see where I am going; please take me home quickly, so that I am not—”
“No, no, my dear, let’s walk up here first and over the bridge into the glen. You are too agitated to be seen. Try and be firm, my dear—try and be firm.”