"Are you going with me?" she asked after a pause.
"I? O, my dear child, you will not go at all this way. Perhaps it is as well to pack up and show your dignity, but they will not let you go, you know, your father's daughter, and all,—I told James to tell them,—it would be shameful, I should never forgive them."
"The question is whether they will ever forgive me, whether I have not killed Katie. Sometimes I think of it only that way, and sometimes—."
She was silent again and busy. Then all at once she stopped and walked to the window. Her hands grasped the sash and she stood looking out at the sky that had not gathered a cloud from all this darkness of her life. At length she began to walk up and down as if every footstep took her away from the house.
"I always thought it must be a dreadful thing to marry a man you did not want," she said speaking out her thoughts as if alone; "but to marry a man who does not want you,—that is the most terrible thing in the world. I have done both." And she covered her face with her hands.
"Poor girl," answered Mrs. Eveleigh, "it is hard. But you gave him as good as he sent, that's a fact. Governor Wentworth spoke about it after you left." Elizabeth had raised her head and was looking steadily at her companion. "When young Archdale looked at you as he passed out, I mean," she went on. "'Great Heavens!' cried the Governor, 'did you see that exchange of looks, scorn and hatred on both sides, and they may be husband and wife? The Lord pity them. And poor Katie!'"
"He said that?"
"Exactly that. Why, everybody noticed it, of course. What did you say?" she added at a faint sound from her listener.
"Nothing."
And Elizabeth said nothing until ten minutes later when the sound of wheels sent her to the window to see that a conveyance at least fairly comfortable had been found for them. Her bonnet and wraps were already on.