When he had gone a few paces, he looked back. She was still standing where he had left her. A sudden instinct brought him again to her side. “Don’t be a little fool, Paddy! Come, be friends. I may never come back.”
“It is not of the smallest consequence to me whether you do or not.” She still stood with her hands behind her, and her eyes never once wavered before his. He could not choose but admire her dauntless attitude, now she had declared war. He hesitated a moment, unwilling to show himself beaten. Then he gave a little laugh.
“I declare—I believe you’ve given me an object in life. It will be quite entertaining, some day, to break down your defences.” He looked into her face. “Do you hear, Patricia, when I come back, I shall storm the fortress, and make you cry Peace yet. Will you have a bet on it?”
“No,” unbendingly, “I do not care to bet with you.” She hesitated a second, and then finished with unflinching gaze: “I despise you.”
CHAPTER XVII
Brooding Clouds.
There was a shadow upon the Parsonage. The two little ladies looked at each other with vague dismay, and asked wonderingly, “What is this that has come upon us?”
At meal times Jack was nearly always gloomy and preoccupied, or if he was gay his merriment was evidently forced. Between meals he went for long, lonely tramps, and constantly those two perpendicular lines wrinkled his forehead. Strangest of all, he seemed to avoid The Ghan House, and Paddy was no longer his constant companion.
“Could we ask him, do you think, sister?” little Miss Mary suggested timidly.
But Miss Jane shook her head mournfully. They were feeling rather as the hen who has reared ducklings when they first take to water. This docile, careless-hearted, affectionate boy they had reared, had suddenly become a man, and in one stride passed beyond their tender, watchful care. Illness and weakness alone could ever bring him back as he had been. His troubles, his warfare, his striving, he would henceforth wrestle with alone.