“I shall take my time over it,” she answered. “It is not much of a walk.”
“Too much for you at present,” he gravely said. “Let me send you home in one of Colonel Max’s carriages.”
“No, oh no!” she quickly answered. “Indeed I have not miscalculated my strength: I can walk perfectly well, and would prefer to do so.”
“Then you will first come into the house and rest.”
“I would rather not. Let me sit here a little longer; it is resting me.”
“I will be back immediately,” he said, walking from her very quickly, and plunging into a narrow path which was a short cut to the house. When he reappeared he bore a glass of wine and a biscuit on a plate.
She took the wine. The biscuit she put back with a shiver. “I never can eat anything now,” she said, lifting her eyes to his to beseech his pardon.
When she at length rose, Lord Averil took her hand and laid it within his arm. She supposed he meant to escort her to the gate.
“I have not said a word of thanks to you,” she murmured, when they reached it. “I am very, very grateful to you, very sensible of your kindness; but I cannot speak of it. My heart seems broken.”
She had halted and held out her hand in farewell. Lord Averil did not release her, but walked on. “If you will walk home, Mrs. George Godolphin, you must at least allow my arm to help you.”