“‘Remember, madam,’ I replied (she had not spoken, but I answered the anxiety visible in her features), ‘remember that Mr Meredith must return at a walk; the roads through the forest are not in a state to admit fast riding.’ I said this to encourage her; but the truth is, I knew not how to explain William’s absence. Knowing the distance, I also knew that I could have gone twice to the town and back since his departure. The evening dew began to penetrate our clothes, and especially Eva’s thin muslin dress. Again I drew her arm through mine and led her towards the house. She followed unresistingly; her gentle nature was submissive even in affliction. She walked slowly, her head bowed, her eyes fixed on the tracks left by the gallop of her husband’s horse. How melancholy it was, that evening walk, still without William! In vain we listened: there reigned around us the profound stillness of a summer night in the country. How greatly does a feeling of uneasiness increase under such circumstances. We entered the house. Eva seated herself on the sofa, her hands clasped upon her knees, her head sunk upon her bosom. There was a lamp on the chimney-piece, whose light fell full upon her face. I shall never forget its suffering expression. She was pale, very pale—her brow and cheeks exactly the same colour; her hair, relaxed by the night-damp, fell in disorder upon her shoulders. Tears filled her eyes, and the quivering of her colourless lips showed how violent was the effort by which she avoided shedding them. She was so young that her face resembled that of a child forbidden to cry.
“I was greatly troubled, and knew not what to say or how to look. Suddenly I remembered (it was a doctor’s thought) that Eva, engrossed by her uneasiness, had taken nothing since morning, and her situation rendered it imprudent to prolong this fast. At my first reference to the subject she raised her eyes to mine with a reproachful expression, and the motion of her eyelids caused two tears to flow down her cheeks.
“‘For your child’s sake, madam,’ said I.
“‘Ah, you are right!’ she murmured, and she passed into the dining-room; but there the little table was laid for two, and at that moment this trifle so saddened me as to deprive me of speech and motion. My increasing uneasiness rendered me quite awkward; I had not the wit to say what I did not think. The silence was prolonged; ‘and yet,’ said I to myself, ‘I am here to console her; she sent for me for that purpose. There must be fifty ways of explaining this delay—let me find one.’ I sought, and sought—and still I remained silent, inwardly cursing the poverty of invention of a poor village doctor. Eva, her head resting on her hand, forgot to eat. Suddenly she turned to me and burst out sobbing.
“‘Ah, doctor!’ she exclaimed, ‘I see plainly that you too are uneasy.’
“‘Not so, madam—indeed not so,’ replied I, speaking at random. ‘Why should I be uneasy? He has doubtless dined with the notary. The roads are safe, and no one knows that he went for money.’
“I had inadvertently revealed one of my secret causes of uneasiness. I knew that a band of foreign reapers had that morning passed through the village, on their way to a neighbouring department.
“Eva uttered a cry.
“‘Robbers! robbers!’ she exclaimed. ‘I never thought of that danger.’