“If I took hat and cloak and went from out your door?”
“Aye, just.”
“I cannot.... No man ever loved as I love you.... Here, this dusk, this Sabbath.—Think if I am in earnest.... Joan, Joan! If I lose for thee my immortal soul—”
She made a sound of anger and contempt. “Oh, thy little immortal soul! Be but mortal—and just!” The tears rose in her grey eyes. “See what you will do to me! Say that you were seen coming here—say that any of the times you have waited for me, waylaid me, met me against my will, you were watched—we were seen together.... You are a man and a gentleman and a great man in this country. It will not harm you. But Joan Heron—but Joan Heron—it will harm her! It will provide her misery for all her days!”
Carthew struck his hand against the settle. “Is not all my name and future risked? I am not of the old England, nor of to-day’s careless and idolatrous England. My world is the world of the new England, of the forces of the Lord mustering upon the straight and narrow path where there is no room for Satan’s toys! And if I turn aside to Babylon and the flesh and its madness, and if my turning becomes known—Joan, Joan, you know not how great is my risk—even my worldly risk! As for the other—as for my risk of God’s hatred and damnation—but I will not speak of that.... Enough that I am here, and that to hold you consenting in my arms would even all out and make my lead gold and my torment bliss! Joan—if you would but love me and feel how the risk is outweighed! As for security, we can manage that. Many another pair has managed that. To-day—here—with the wind and rain keeping all within doors.... I rode with the men some way toward the town, and then I left them, saying there were matters at home that needed. When they were out of sight, I turned through the fields and went up the stream that was all solitary, until I was over against the Oak Grange and the forest all around me. Then I turned and rode here through the forest, and fastened my horse in a hollow out there where none may see him.... Joan, it is like a desert all about us—or like Paradise garden. Joan, Joan, I love you! Joan, have pity!”
There came an access of lightning with thunder and a prolonged whistling of the wind. In the warring light and darkness of the room, Carthew, as though the final spring of restraint had snapped, came close to her, put his arms about her. The lightning blazed again, and by it both saw with distinctness a man and woman standing without, their faces close to the window. In the darkness after the flash, they left it and came on to the cottage door, but as yet did not knock. Within the room, Carthew, sobered, the colour ebbing from his face, only one consideration pouring in upon his mind, released Joan and caught from the settle hat and cloak. There was a second outward-opening door, giving upon the bit of garden behind the cottage, leading in its turn to the forest. He looked toward it. She nodded, “Yes, yes, go!” He came close to her, moving noiselessly and speaking low, “Do you think they saw—saw at all?”
She shook her head. “I do not know.”
“It was too dusk within. I do not think they saw. Keep counsel, Joan, for thy own sake if not for mine.”
The two without knocked. Carthew crossed the floor without sound, opened the forest-facing door, and with a gesture of farewell vanished. There was a continuous noise of wind and rain; what daylight was left and the lightning were all without; it might truly be doubted if one glancing through the window could either see or hear, the interior was so dusky, the voice of wind and wet so continuing. Joan, with a long, shuddering sigh, put down the hunting-knife, and going to the door opened it. The two who stood there were Will the smith’s son and his mother. They had, it seemed, the weather clearing, walked to see the forester’s people; then, the clouds returning, they had taken their leave to hurry home. But the storm had overtaken them—and they had thought to take refuge until the rain lessened in Heron’s cottage. But they did not know—they thought they had better go on.
“Come in and warm and dry yourselves,” said Joan.