I passed swiftly out, and down the garden path, only venturing to give one look back to nod and kiss my hand, when I reached the gate, and then sped on as fast as my feet would carry me. I was just turning into the lane which led towards the stile, when suddenly I found myself face to face with Robert Wentworth.
'Where are you going to at that rate, Mary?'
I shrank back, for a moment incapable of uttering a word; eyeing him desperately, almost defiantly, for I felt in my misery as though he had suddenly presented himself in my path to bar my escape—a new power to strive against, when my strength was almost spent. He could always see deeper than any one else; and he had come upon me when I was so unprepared. I had just dropped the smiling mask which I had found it so difficult to wear all day, and was beginning to feel sufficiently secure from observation to be less careful as to what my face might tell. I caught in my breath, shrinking farther away, but facing him like an animal at bay. For a few moments he stood gazing at me, apparently as much at a loss for words as I was myself, then his eyes fell upon my muffled hand, and he asked: 'Have you hurt your hand, Mary?'
'Yes.'
'Not seriously, I hope? How did it happen?'
I looked down at my hand in a dazed kind of way, trying to recollect what had happened to it. 'I don't know. Good-bye.'
'Mary! is there anything to be done which a brother might do for you?' he asked in a low troubled voice.
I tried to think what brothers could do, and what there was to be done for me, then shook my head.
'For old friendship's sake, do treat me as a brother now, Mary!'
His very evident perturbation had the good effect of making me rally my scattered wits, and I was so far like myself again as to reply: 'The only—only way in which you can help me just now is to let me go without any further questioning.'