She put her hand on his sleeve and almost turned him round. George turned with her and they went forward, hardly thinking where they were going, he because he was with her and would have gone with her to perdition, and she because she had no other thought than the one which had been in her all day.
“Oh, George, why have you left your place?” she cried.
“How do you know I’ve left it?” said he, almost roughly.
“I heard to-day. Mr. Bumpett the Pig-driver was here. ’Twas him I got it from.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was in the shop.”
“Buying?”
“No. He came to tell me you was leaving Masterhouse. He told me why, too.”
An exclamation broke from the man.
“Oh, I know. I know all about it,” said the girl, her voice trembling. “Do go back now, George, do. For all the good you’ve done me, I’ve given you nought but harm. Let me be an’ go back to the farm, and I’ll never see you nor speak to you, if they’ll take you back. It will make me happy, oh! so happy, George. Do you hear what I say?”