CHAPTER XIX.
The day came on which Bates was to go home. He had had a week's petulant struggle with his malady since he last passed through the door of Trenholme's house, but now he had conquered it for the hour, and even his host perceived that it was necessary for him to make his journey before the weather grew colder.
His small belongings packed, his morose good-byes said, Alec Trenholme drove him to the railway station.
Both the brothers knew why it was that, in taking leave of them, Bates hardly seemed to notice that he did so; they knew that, in leaving the place, he was all-engrossed in the thought that he was leaving the girl, Eliza Cameron, for ever; but he seemed to have no thought of saying to her a second farewell.
The stern reserve which Bates had maintained on this subject had so wrought on Alec's sympathy that he had consulted his brother as to the advisability of himself making some personal appeal to Eliza, and the day before Bates started he had actually gone on this mission. If it was not successful, hardly deserved that it should be; for when he stood in front of the girl, he could not conceal the great dislike he felt for her, nor could he bring himself to plead on behalf of a man who he felt was worth a thousand such as she. He said briefly that Bates was to start for home the next day, and by such a train, and that he had thought it might concern her to know it.
"Did he tell you to tell me?" asked Eliza, without expression.
"No, he didn't; and what's more, he never told me how you came here. You think he's been telling tales about you! You can know now that he never did; he's not that sort. I saw you at Turrifs, and when I saw you again here I knew you. All I've got to say about that is, that I, for one, don't like that kind of conduct. You've half killed Bates, and this winter will finish him off."
"That's not my fault," said Eliza.
"Oh? Well, that's for you to settle with yourself. I thought I'd come and tell you what I thought about it, and that he was going. That's all I've got to say."
"But I've something more to say, and you'll stay and hear it." She folded her arms upon her breast, and looked at him, a contemptuous, indignant Amazon. "You think Mr. Bates would thank you if you got me to go away with him because I was afraid he'd die. You think"—growing sarcastic—"that Mr. Bates wants me to go with him because I'm sorry for him. I tell you, if I did what you're asking, Mr. Bates would be the first to tell you to mind your own business and to send me about mine."