She meant that by marrying him she was widening the breach between the uncle and nephew—that she was marrying the former for the express purpose of depriving the latter of his inheritance. She could not tell Langford this now.
'I will do my duty by you to the best of my lights. But I shall have one duty tying me here, and seven drawing me to the little cottage in the lane, and I feel—I feel that I shall be torn to pieces.'
Taverner Langford stood up and paced the room with his arms folded behind his back. His head was bowed and his cheeks pale. The girl said no more. She again shifted her feet, and rested both hands, under her cloak, on the table. Langford looked round at her; her head was bent, her yellow-brown hair was tied in a knot behind. As her head was stooping, the back of her neck showed above the red cloak. It was as though she bent before the executioner's axe. He turned away.
'Sit down,' he said. 'Why have you been standing? You look ill. What has ailed you?'
'In body nothing,' she answered.
'Who is it?' he asked surlily, looking out of the window, and passing his own fingers over his face.
She slightly raised her head and eyes questioningly.
'I mean,' he said, without turning to see her, but understanding by her silence that she asked an explanation—'I allude to what you were saying just now. Who is it whom you fancy?'
'If you insist, I will tell. If you have any pity you will spare me. In time—before the day, you shall know.'
He passed his hand over his face again.