And Barnabas saw her shudder violently.
"Yet you were going to him."
"To save my brother. But now—God help me, I can't do it! Oh, it's too hateful and—and I am afraid, Barnabas. I ought to have been at Ashleydown an hour ago, but oh, I—I couldn't, it was too horrible—I couldn't! So I came the longest way; I made the post-boy drive very slowly, I—I was waiting—for you, Barnabas, praying God that you would come to me—"
"Because you—were afraid, my lady."
"Yes, Barnabas."
"And behold, I am here!" said Barnabas. But now, seeing the quiver of her white hands, and the light in her eyes—a sudden glow that was not of the lanterns, he turned his head and looked resolutely away.
"I am here, my lady, to take you back home again," said he.
"Home?" she repeated. "Ah, no, no—I have no home, now! Oh, Barnabas," she whispered, "take me, take me away—to my brother. Let us go away from England to-night—anywhere, take me with you, Barnabas."
Now, as she spoke, her hands came out to him with a swift gesture, full of passionate entreaty. And the lanterns made a shining glory of her hair, and showed him the deep wonder of her eyes, the quick surge of her round, young bosom, the tender quiver of the parted lips as she waited his answer; thus our Barnabas beholding the witchery of her shy-drooping lashes, the scarlet lure of her mouth, the yielding warmth and all the ripe beauty of her, fell suddenly a-trembling and sighed; then, checking the sigh, looked away again across the dim desolation of the country-side, and clenched his hands.
"My lady," said he, his voice hoarse and uncertain, "why do you—tempt me? I am only—an amateur gentleman—why do you tempt me so?" As he spoke he wheeled his horse and motioned to the flinching postboy. "Turn!" he commanded.