"I think not; I have a fancy that you told me that you preferred strangling to my help. Oh, it was only a dream," as Elizabeth looked rather horrified at this; "my dreams of the Pool were never happy ones."
Elizabeth made no reply to this—perhaps words were a little difficult at the moment. But as Malcolm said no more, she observed presently—"I suppose you thought you could exorcise the nightmares by seeing the place again?" Then he turned round and looked her full in the face, and the lines round his mouth were fixed and stern.
"No," he said with unnatural calmness, "any such exorcism would be useless in my case; I have only come to take a last look at it."
Elizabeth's strength seemed to forsake her, and she sank down on the boulder. "What—what do you mean?" she asked faintly.
"What do I mean?" with a bitter laugh, but his eyes flashed ominously. "I mean that I am a coward. Cowards run away, do they not? Elizabeth, I am beaten—I confess it—I am going to give it up. I shall come here no more."
"No more—not come to the Wood House?" Elizabeth could scarcely gasp out the words.
"No," he replied quietly, "not even to see your sister. I mean to tell her so before I leave; she will understand me. Why should I come here to be treated as you have treated me to-day? Each time I come you show me more plainly that my love and devotion are nothing to you. Well, dear as you are to me—God only knows how dear—I can lead my life without you. Yes, I will free myself from my bonds—I will be no woman's slave."
If she could only speak! The tears were running down her face now; he must have seen them if he had looked; but as she put up her hands to hide them, a little choking sob escaped her and reached his ear.
He bent over her and spoke in a gentler tone. "Why are you weeping, Elizabeth? Are those tears for yourself or me?"
"For myself," she whispered; "because you are leaving me, and I want you—I want you so."