Edward, coming downstairs, felt such a rush of joy and youth at sight of her that he was obliged to stand still and remember that joy and youth were not for him, that his only love had gone of her own will to another man, and must be to him now only a poor waif sheltered for pity. He was very much altered. His face frightened Hazel.
'Have you come to stay, Hazel, or only for a visit?' he asked.
'Oh, dunna look at me the like o' that, and dunna talk so stern,
Ed'ard!'
'I wasn't aware that I was stern.'
Edward's face was white. He looked down at her with an expression she could not gauge. For there, had come upon him, seeing her there again, so sweet in her dishevelment, so enchanting in her suppliance, the same temptation that tormented him on his wedding-day. Only now he resisted it for a different reason.
Hazel, his Hazel, was no fit mate for him. The words flamed in his
brain; then fiercely, he denied them. He would not believe it.
Circumstance, Hazel, his mother, even God might shout the lie at him.
Still, he would not believe.
But he must have it out with her. He must know.
'Hazel,' he said, 'after breakfast I want you to come with me up the
Mountain.'
'Yes, Ed'ard,' she said obediently.
She adored his sternness. She adored his look of weariness. She longed hopefully and passionately for his touch.