“Spare me, madam,” he cried, in desperation. “Oh; if you only knew what I have suffered on your account since that unlucky day! Believe me, it was not cowardice—well, I cannot say that exactly—but it was not the fear of your just reproaches that made me fly. It was the approach of the police, and the fear of being taken up, and a public trial, and the disgrace of—of—and—then I felt ashamed before I had fled more than a few hundred yards, and I returned to the spot, but you were gone, and I had no means of—of—”
“That will do, young man. There is no need to keep me standing in this wild place. You are living somewhere in this neighbourhood, I suppose?”
“Yes. I am living in the neighbourhood,” said Barret bitterly.
“Well, I am going to stay at Kinlossie House. You know Kinlossie House, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, I know it.”
“There is no occasion to look so fierce or bitter, young sir. I am going to be at Kinlossie for some time. If you choose to call there, I shall be ready to listen to your explanations and apologies, for I have no desire to appear either harsh or unforgiving. Meanwhile, I wish you good morning.”
Saying which, and with a sweeping bow of a rather antiquated style, the offended lady passed on.
For a considerable time Barret stood motionless, with folded arms, “admiring the scenery” with a stony stare. A stone about the size of his fist lay at his foot. He suddenly kicked that violently into space. Had it been the size of his head, he would probably not have kicked it! Then he gave vent to a wild laugh, became suddenly grave, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and walked up the road with clenched teeth and a deadly stride.
Mrs Moss heard the laugh as it echoed among the great cliffs.
“What a dreadful young man!” she muttered, hurrying forward.