"See if I am not!" she answered coldly. "Ride back to my father now, and let me go my ways alone to the tower."
"I will go to him, Henrietta; but it will only be to tell him that I am about to return to my appointment in Dublin—unless, indeed," he added, with a lingering hope of reconciliation—"unless, Henrietta, you retract."
"I never retract," she answered shortly.
"Then, farewell!" he said, with a half movement, as if he would have taken her hand."
"Farewell!" she answered, affecting not to see his offered hand, and shaking the reins loose on her horse's neck.
Ormiston turned his horse's head in the opposite direction, and went forward a few paces; then he stopped and looked after his late companion. She was moving on, but slowly, and like one lost in thought. Stirred by a sudden honest impulse of regret, he turned and followed her. Henrietta heard him, and instantly checked her horse, as if determined not to suffer him to ride any longer at her side.
"Henrietta!" he said.
"What would you?" she asked sullenly.
"Only unsay that one word, 'hypocrisy,' and let things be as they were before."
"I never unsay what I have said," she answered coldly.