“I can be as still as a mouse here,” observed Agnes. “I can take my work to that farthest window; and if you whisper, I shall not hear a word you say. Or, if I do hear a word, I will tell you directly. And you will let me come, now and then, and warm myself, if I find I cannot hold my needle any longer.”
“No, no; that won’t do. We can’t talk so. Do just go, and see whether aunt cannot let you be there for this one afternoon.”
Agnes did not like to refuse anything to Hugh: but she hesitated to take such a bold step as this. In his eagerness, Hugh requested the same favour of Tooke; but Tooke, more anxious even than Agnes to oblige, had not courage for such an errand. Hugh snatched his crutches, and declared he would go himself. But now Agnes gave way. She gathered up her work, and left the room. Hugh little imagined where she went, this cold, darkening December afternoon. She went to her own room, put on her cloak, and walked up and down till tea was ready, without fire or candle, and not very happy in her mind.
Meanwhile the boys basked before a glowing fire. Tooke began directly to open his full heart.
“Was that true that your sister said at dinner, about your always longing so to come to Crofton!”
“Yes.”
“How sorry you must be that you came! How you must wish that you had never seen me!”
“I knew that there would be things to bear, whenever I came; and particularly while I was the youngest. Your father told me that: and one of the things that made me want to come more than ever was his telling me how you bore things when you were the youngest—being set on the top of that wall, and so on.”
“Indeed, indeed, I never meant to hurt you when I pulled your foot—I suppose you are quite sure that it was I that gave the first pull? Are you?”
“Why, yes; I am sure of that; and so are you: but I know very well that you meant no harm; and that is the reason I would not tell. After what you did about the sponge, I could not think you meant any harm to me.”