"You never came near me all the morning," said Vincenza to Cain. She had quite forgotten to bid him good morning. She was not usually a very thoughtful girl, or apt to hang her head. But now she looked quiet and serious.
"You?" said Cain, turning toward her. Then he didn't know what more to say, and went on piling up the wood.
"I know why, already," said Vincenza. Leaning against the woodpile, she looked at Cain. After a short pause she continued. "They have told us what a strange name you have. So--that is why you don't come over any more, isn't it?"
"I am going away--I am going very far away now," said Cain, but even as he spoke the words, it seemed wholly impossible to him, that they could be true.
Vincenza thought a moment. Then she came closer to him. "If you go, I shall go too," said she.
He could not laugh at what she said, for all that it seemed so incredible. Since he could not find a word to say, he stroked her hand, which was resting on the woodpile.
Just then Simmen came out of the tavern door, with his face flushed, and called out angrily to Vincenza: "Are you there again with the smith's boy, you?" It was the first time that he had had anything to say against the friendship of the two.
The girl turned around. Her little brown face wore an angry expression. "I shall tell my father," said she to Cain as she went away. The boy scarcely knew what she meant. But she walked slowly up to Simmen.
"Franz wants to go away," said she when she was close to him.
"So he ought," answered the host, crossly.