Wollaston returned suddenly to the original topic. “Were you actually running away because you heard I was coming?” he said.
“Yes, I suppose I was,” Maria replied, in a hopeless, defiant sort of fashion.
“Do you actually know anybody in Springfield?”
“No.”
“Have you much money with you?”
“I had fifteen dollars and a few cents before I paid my fare here.”
“Good God!” cried Wollaston. Then he added, after a pause of dismay, almost of terror, during which he looked at the pale little figure beside him, “Do you realize what might have happened to you?”
“I don't think I realized much of anything except to get away,” replied Maria.
Wollaston took her hand again and held it firmly. “Now listen to me, Maria,” he said. “On Monday I shall have to begin teaching in the Westbridge Academy. I don't see how I can do anything else. But now listen. I give you my word of honor, I will not show by word or deed that you are anything to me except a young lady who used to live in the same village with me. I shall have to admit that.”
“I am not anything else to you,” Maria flashed out.