“The next train.”
“The next train to where?”
“The next train to Springfield,” said Maria, mentioning the first city which came into her mind.
“What are you going to Springfield for so late? Have you friends there?”
“No,” said Maria, in a hopeless voice.
Wollaston sat down beside her. He took one of her little, cold hands, and held it in spite of a feeble struggle on her part to draw it away. “Now, see here, Maria,” he said, “I know there is something wrong. What is it?”
His tone was compelling. Maria looked straight ahead at the gloomy fringe of woods, and answered, in a lifeless voice, “I heard you were coming.”
“And that is the reason you were going away?”
“Yes.”
“See here, Maria,” said Wollaston, eagerly, “upon my honor I did not know myself until this very afternoon that you were one of the teachers in the Westbridge Academy. If I had known I would have refused the position, although my mother was very anxious for me to accept it. I would refuse it now if it were not too late, but I promise you to resign very soon if you wish it.”