"Come out at least into the sunshine," he said, taking her cold hand. "You will be chilled in this dreary place."
Giving a douceur to the poor guardian of the premises, they went together to a point of the hillside whereon the trunk of a fallen tree offered a semblance of a seat.
Helen, actually nerveless, dropped upon it, Glynn standing beside her, neither daring to speak first.
"You know that I am leaving to-morrow?" he asked finally.
"Posey told me so last night," she answered.
"She told you what was to follow my return at the end of March?"
"Yes."
"The question is, Am I a man of honor or a scoundrel?" he went on with a frowning brow. "I have thought of it so long, so intensely, that my judgment has ceased to act. Helen, you have the clearest mind, the most well-balanced conscience I ever knew——"
"You can say that, when I was so false to myself and you as to let you go that time in New York, before all these complications came upon us?" she interrupted him bitterly. "But there, what is the use? We have parted, there is no hope, let us never speak of ourselves together again. If it is your duty to Posey, to her father, that torments you; I bid you keep your pledge. It is impossible that you should now make any motion to withdraw from it. The one terrible thing to me was that we should all go on and Poesy have no idea what you and I once were to each other——"
"Nobody could know that," the man said sturdily. Helen shivered.