“Let me pass!” she answered breathlessly.
He was so warm upon the scent he terrified her.
But he did not give way.
“Think, miss,” he said more gravely. “Think! A wife and six children! Or was it four? Much he cared for any but himself! I’m sure I’m shocked when I think of it!”
“Be silent!” she cried.
“Much he cared what became of you! While Captain Clyne, if you were to consult his wishes, miss, I’m sure he’d say——”
“I do not care what he would say!” she retorted passionately, stung at last beyond reticence or endurance. “I never wish to hear Captain Clyne’s name again: I hate him; do you hear? I hate him! Let me pass!”
Then, whether he would or no, she broke from him. She hurried, panting, and with burning cheeks, down the steep path; the briars clutching unheeded at her skirts, and stones rolling under her feet. He followed at her heels, admiring her spirit; he even tried to engage her again, begging her to stop and hear him. But she only pushed on the faster, and presently he thought it better to desist, and he let her go.
He stood and wiped his brow, looking after her.
“Lord, what a spirit she has!” he muttered. “A fine swelling figure, too, and a sway with her head that makes you feel small! And feet that nimble! But all the same, I’m glad she’s not Mrs. Bishop! Take my word for it, she’ll be another Mother Gilson—some day.”