Sebastian leant forward, pressing down the tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. He made no reply.
‘Are you not coming to church? Perhaps some patients require your care——’ began Emma. She came and laid her hand on his shoulder in gentle remonstrance.
‘No, I cannot come.’
‘Mayhap you might come to meet us—you think little of such a walk,’ suggested Emma.
‘No!’ said Sebastian curtly. Emma had never seen him so cross before. Her eyes filled with tears, and she withdrew her hand from his shoulder, and turned away.
‘I fear I have displeased you, sir!’ she said, feeling a sudden inclination to desert this young man, who could behave so strangely to her one short week after their marriage. But the next moment she forgave him; for Sebastian, at the tearful sound of her voice, jumped up and came over to where she stood, holding out his hands to her.
‘Pardon me, Emma; ’tis no fault of yours, but a fancy of my own. I never pass that way an I can help it, Emma—that’s all.’
‘Why——!’ began stupid Emma; but she dried her tears.
‘Because Anne Champion lived there, and there I saw her die, and I’m like to weep tears of blood when I pass by that way,’ said Sebastian, who, whatever he was, would have no secrets from his wife, in spite of Dr. Barrington’s wisdom.
If Emma had been a crafty woman she would have discontinued her attendance at St. Mary Minories after this; but she was not, and instead, she went there weekly, and very frequently she would say, ‘Sebastian, if so be that you cannot worship along with me, why do you not go to some other church?’ And Sebastian scarcely knew whether to laugh more at her singular lack of tact or to be provoked by it.