“Is any one ill?” she cried; “is that the reason? Oh, John, tell me! are you really obliged to go? Or is it—anything—we have done?”
“No,” he said, holding her hand in his. “It is all my fault. It does not matter. It is that I cannot manage this sort of life. No blame to you, my darling. Don’t think I am blaming you. When I am back at my work, things will look different. I was not brought up to it, like you. You must pardon me as you would pardon me for being ignorant and not knowing another language; but it is best I should go away.”
“John!” she cried, the tears coming with a sudden rush into the wondering eyes that had been gazing at him so intently, “what have I done?”
“Nothing—nothing,” he said, stooping over her hand and kissing it again and again. “There is only myself to blame. I can’t take things, I suppose, as other people do. I am exacting and inconsiderate and—— Never mind, dear, I must go away; and you will not remember my faults when I am gone.”
“But I never thought you had any faults,” cried Kate. “You speak as if it were me. I never have found fault with you, John—nor asked anything more—nor—— I know I am silly. Tell me, and scold me, and forgive me. Say as papa does—it is only Kate. I know I did not mean it. Oh, John, dear, if I beg your pardon, though I don’t know what I have done——”
“You have done nothing,” he cried, in despair. “Oh, my Kate! are you my Kate? or are you a witch coming into my arms to distract me from everything? No, no, no! I must not be conquered this time. My love, it will be best for both of us. I cannot go on seeing you always within my reach and always out of my reach. I would have you always like this—always here—always mine; but I can’t have you; and I have no strength to stand by at a distance and look on. Do you understand me now? I shall go away so much happier because of this five minutes. Good-bye.”
“But, John!” she cried, clinging to him, “don’t go away; why should you go away? I will do anything you please. I will—make a change; don’t go and leave me. I want you to be here.”
“You break my heart!” he cried; “but I cannot be here. What use is it to you? And to me it is distraction. Kate! don’t ask me to stay.”
“But it is of use to me,” she said, with a flush on her face, and an expression unlike anything he had seen before—an uneasy look, half of shame and half of alarm. Then she turned from him a little, with a slight change of tone. “It is a strange way of using me,” she said, looking steadfastly at the carpet, “after my going to you, and all; not many girls would have gone to you as I did; you might stay now when I ask you—for my sake.”
“I will do anything in the world for your sake,” he said; “but, Kate, it does you no good, you know. It is an embarrassment to you,” John went on, with a half-groan escaping him, “and it is distraction to me.”