Nor was he out in his reckoning.
The relations between mother and daughter had been strained. Throughout the day each had felt uneasy, and conscious of the barrier that divided them, and shy of being in each other's presence and society.
The situation had become unendurable, and for their mutual relief Winefred had gone in the afternoon to Bindon, to see Mrs. Jose and have tea with her. She did not herself feel in a humour for a visit. She would have preferred to remain alone in her chamber with her thoughts, but as matters stood she considered that it would be best for her to be away from the cottage, and as she owed Mrs. Jose a visit and a talk, she went to her. She could at all events freely speak with her of Jack's daring feat in getting the choughs, and she carried with her the cage to show the birds to the farmer's wife. She further harboured the hope that, when by herself, her mother might reconsider her determination.
Night had fallen when Winefred left Bindon to return to the Undercliff, and she went up the lane to the gate that opened on to the down.
And there, in the starlight, she saw some one. She knew who it must be thus awaiting her, standing there where she had formerly menaced him with a bush.
'Winefred,' said he, and threw open the gate, 'see, I have plucked away briars and thorns. Pass through to me on the down.'
'O Jack, why have you come?'
'Because I could not stay away. I felt that I must once more see you, hear you—kiss you.'
'Jack, I am returning home, and am late. I have stayed too long at Bindon.'
'You shall not go home yet. Your time belongs now to me.'