He said nothing; the thrush sang on, the liquid notes rising and falling with almost unendurable sweetness.
Then, ‘I entreat you!’ he pleaded once more. ‘I entreat you to forgive me!’
She stretched out her hand in silence, and he took it without a word; it was cold, very cold, and it trembled.
She drew it away almost as soon as his fingers had closed upon it, and he turned and went away, his footsteps falling with unaccustomed heaviness on the little path; and presently the gate swung to behind him.
Isaac was sitting by the dying fire, a foot resting on either hob, and surrounded by a haze of tobacco-smoke, when his nephew entered. He looked towards Richard with an aggrieved expression as he crossed the room.
‘Well, them there legs o’ yourn should be pretty well stretched by now. I was wonderin’ whether you were comin’ back at all to-night. Where have ye been all this while?’
Richard hesitated, and then, throwing back his head, answered deliberately:
‘I’ve been to see Mrs. Fiander.’
‘What! to Littlecomb at this time o’ night! What ever took ’ee there so late?’
‘Why, to tell you the truth, I went to make an apology to Mrs. Fiander. She came across the top field to-day when I was ploughing, and I said something which hurt her feelings—in fact, I offended her very much, and I felt I could not rest to-night without begging her pardon.’