“Even were it as you say, sir, by what authority do you question me? I’ve said I wish to be alone.”
“Oh, if that’s your wish, I must obey, and relieve you of my presence, apparently so disagreeable.”
Saying this he steps to one side. Then continues,—
“As I’ve told you, I was on the way to your father’s house to take leave of the family. If you’re not going immediately home, perhaps I may be the bearer of a message for you?”
The irony is evident; but Helen Armstrong is not sensible of it. She does not even think of it. Her only thought is how to get disembarrassed of this man who has appeared at a moment so mal apropos. Charles Clancy—for he was the expected one—may have been detained by some cause unknown, a delay still possible of justification. She has a lingering thought he may yet come; and, so thinking, her eye turns towards the forest with a quick, subtle glance.
Notwithstanding its subtlety, and the obscurity surrounding them, Darke observes, comprehends it.
Without waiting for her rejoinder, he proceeds to say,—
“From the mistake you’ve just made, Miss Armstrong, I presume you took me for some one bearing the baptismal name of Charles. In these parts I know only one person who carries that cognomen—one Charles Clancy. If it be he you are expecting, I think I can save you the necessity of stopping out in the night air any longer. If you’re staying for him you’ll be disappointed; he will certainly not come.”
“What mean you, Mr Darke? Why do you say that?”
His words carry weighty significance, and throw the proud girl off her guard. She speaks confusedly, and without reflection.