The deadly pallor of the vicars face had given place to a flush of guilt and shame. He crossed the brook and stood beside her.
“Edith, I have done wrong. Can you forgive me?” he asked, attempting to take her hand.
“Do not touch me, Mr. Santley!” she exclaimed, stepping back from him. “Do not speak to me.”
“Will you not forgive me, Edith?”
“Ask God to forgive you. It matters little now whether I forgive or not. Please go away and leave me.”
“I cannot leave you in this manner. Say you forgive. I confess I have done wrong, but it was in the heat of passion, it was not premeditated.”
“The heat of passion! Was it only in the heat of passion that you—— Oh, go at once, Mr. Santley! Go before I say what had better be left unspoken!” The vicar paused and looked at her anxiously; but Edith, throwing her shoes and stockings on the ground, sat down on a stone, and resting her pale, unhappy face on her hands, gazed with a hard, fixed expression at the water.
“Dearest Edith, try to believe that what I did was only an act of momentary madness; blame me if you will, for I cannot too severely blame myself, but do not look so relentless and unforgiving.”
She never stirred or gave any indication that she had heard him, but sat staring at the water.
“You will be sorry for your unkindness afterwards,” he continued.