“Stop a minute, Trethick,” said the old man. “I must go in first and find whether Madge can see Miss Penwynn.”
They heard his step upon the gravel, and the stones flying; as he stamped down his cane, and then they stood in silence looking in each other’s eyes.
Geoffrey was the first to speak, and it was in a bitter, angry voice that he exclaimed,—
“I never thought to have stood face to face with you again; but as we have met, Rhoda Penwynn, ask my pardon.”
Rhoda’s eyes flashed angrily, but the look was subdued on the instant by one that was full of emotion, and, with half-closed eyes, she joined her hands together, and was about to sink upon her knees, but Geoffrey caught her arms and stopped her.
“No,” he said, sharply; “I do not ask you to degrade yourself. Ask my pardon.”
“Forgive me, Geoffrey; my love for you had made me mad.”
Anger, bitterness, determination, promises never to speak, all were gone like a flash of light as Geoffrey Trethick heard those words; and Rhoda Penwynn was clasped tightly to his breast.
The next moment—minute—hour—it might have been either for aught the occupants of the little look-out knew—they became aware of the presence of Mr Paul, who stood in the open doorway, leaning upon his cane.
“Well, Trethick,” he said, mockingly, “when are you going away?”