It was of all this that John was thinking now, as he stood looking out long into the darkness. Then he came and sat down again, shading his eyes with his hand.
“I am glad to be going away,” said Allison, after a little; “and I thank you for—all your kindness.”
“Kindness!” repeated John. “I would like to be kind to you, Allison, if you would let me. Allison I think I could make you a happy woman.”
He rose and stood before her. Allison shook her head sadly.
“I cannot think of myself as being a happy woman any more;” and then she added: “But when I am fairly away, and not afraid, I can be content. I have my Marjorie now, and when she does not need me any more, I can go to Willie. Oh! if I were only safe away.”
John went to the window again. When he came back his face was very pale, but his eyes were gleaming. He sat down on the sofa beside her.
“I am glad—yes, I am glad you are going away. That will be best for a time. And I am glad you have Marjorie. But, Allison, what is to come after? You have your brother? Yes, but he may have some one else then, and may not need you. Oh! Allison, will you let me speak?”
Allison looked up. She grew red, and then pale, but she did not withdraw her eyes from his.
“Speak wisely, John,” said she.
“Allison! You cannot think that you owe duty to that man—that brute, I should rather say? Is there anything in the laws of man or of God to bind you to him? Would it be right to let him claim you as his wife? Would it be right for you to go to him?”