The first hundred yards of their course lay under motionless
trees, whose upper foliage began to hiss with falling drops of
rain. By the time that they emerged upon a glade it rained
heavily.
"This is awkward," said Grace, with an effort to hide her concern.
Winterborne stopped. "Grace," he said, preserving a strictly
business manner which belied him, "you cannot go to Sherton to-night."
"But I must!"
"Why? It is nine miles from here. It is almost an impossibility
in this rain."
"True—WHY?" she replied, mournfully, at the end of a silence. "What is reputation to me?"
"Now hearken," said Giles. "You won't—go back to your—"
"No, no, no! Don't make me!" she cried, piteously.
"Then let us turn." They slowly retraced their steps, and again
stood before his door. "Now, this house from this moment is
yours, and not mine," he said, deliberately. "I have a place near
by where I can stay very well."
Her face had drooped. "Oh!" she murmured, as she saw the dilemma. "What have I done!"
There was a smell of something burning within, and he looked
through the window. The rabbit that he had been cooking to coax a
weak appetite was beginning to char. "Please go in and attend to
it," he said. "Do what you like. Now I leave. You will find
everything about the hut that is necessary."
"But, Giles—your supper," she exclaimed. "An out-house would do
for me—anything—till to-morrow at day-break!"
He signified a negative. "I tell you to go in—you may catch
agues out here in your delicate state. You can give me my supper
through the window, if you feel well enough. I'll wait a while."
He gently urged her to pass the door-way, and was relieved when he
saw her within the room sitting down. Without so much as crossing
the threshold himself, he closed the door upon her, and turned the
key in the lock. Tapping at the window, he signified that she
should open the casement, and when she had done this he handed in
the key to her.
"You are locked in," he said; "and your own mistress."
Even in her trouble she could not refrain from a faint smile at
his scrupulousness, as she took the door-key.
"Do you feel better?" he went on. "If so, and you wish to give me
some of your supper, please do. If not, it is of no importance. I can get some elsewhere."
The grateful sense of his kindness stirred her to action, though
she only knew half what that kindness really was. At the end of
some ten minutes she again came to the window, pushed it open, and
said in a whisper, "Giles!" He at once emerged from the shade, and saw that she was preparing to hand him his share of the meal upon a plate.
"I don't like to treat you so hardly," she murmured, with deep
regret in her words as she heard the rain pattering on the leaves. "But—I suppose it is best to arrange like this?"
"Oh yes," he said, quickly.
"I feel that I could never have reached Sherton."
"It was impossible."
"Are you sure you have a snug place out there?" (With renewed
misgiving.)
"Quite. Have you found everything you want? I am afraid it is
rather rough accommodation."
"Can I notice defects? I have long passed that stage, and you
know it, Giles, or you ought to."
His eyes sadly contemplated her face as its pale responsiveness
modulated through a crowd of expressions that showed only too
clearly to what a pitch she was strung. If ever Winterborne's
heart fretted his bosom it was at this sight of a perfectly
defenceless creature conditioned by such circumstances. He forgot
his own agony in the satisfaction of having at least found her a
shelter. He took his plate and cup from her hands, saying, "Now
I'll push the shutter to, and you will find an iron pin on the
inside, which you must fix into the bolt. Do not stir in the
morning till I come and call you."
She expressed an alarmed hope that he would not go very far away.
"Oh no—I shall be quite within hail," said Winterborne.