motion.
Dagworthy drew near to her; when close enough to hold out his hand, he could no longer keep his eyes upon her face; they fell, and his visage showed an embarrassment which, even in her confusion—her all but dread—Emily noticed as a strange thing. She was struggling to command herself, to overcome by reason the fear which always attacked her in this man’s presence. She felt it as a relief to be spared the steady gaze which, on former meetings, he had never removed from her.
‘You are surprised to see me here?’ he began, taking hold of the chair which Emily had risen from and swaying it backwards and forwards. Even his voice was more subdued than she had ever known it. ‘I have come to apologise to you for sending Miss Cartwright to meet her father at the station. I met her by chance just out there in the road, and as I wanted a messenger very badly I took advantage of her good-nature. But she wouldn’t go unless I promised to come here and explain her absence.’
‘Thank you,’ Emily replied, as naturally as she could. ‘Will she still come back for her lesson, do you think?’
‘I’m afraid not; she said I had better ask you to excuse her this morning.’
Emily gathered up two or three books which lay on the other chair.
‘You find her rather troublesome to teach, I should be afraid,’ Dagworthy pursued, watching her every moment. ‘Jessie isn’t much for study, is she?’
‘Perhaps she is a little absent now and then,’ replied Emily, saying the first thing that occurred to her.
She had collected her books and was about to fasten a strap round them.
‘Do let me do that for you,’ said Dagworthy, and he forestalled her assent, which she would probably not have given, by taking the books from her hands. He put up his foot on the chair, as if for the convenience of doing the strapping on his knee, but before he had finished it he spoke again.
‘You are fond of teaching, I suppose?’
‘Yes, I like it.’
She stood in expectant waiting, her hands held together before her, her head just bent. The attitude was grace itself. Dagworthy raised his eyes slowly from her feet to her face.
‘But you wouldn’t care to go on with it always?’
‘I—I don’t think about it,’ she replied, nervousness again seizing her. There was a new look in his eyes, a vehemence, a fervour, which she dared not meet after the first glance. He would not finish the strapping of the books, and she could not bid him do so. Had she obeyed her instinct, she would have hastened away, heedless of anything but the desire to quit his presence.
‘How long will your holidays be?’ he asked, letting the books fall to the chair, as if by accident.
‘Till the end of September, I think.’
‘So long? I’m glad to hear that. You will come again some day to my house with your father, won’t you?’
The words trembled upon his lips; it was not like his own voice, he could not control it.
‘Thank you, Mr. Dagworthy,’ she replied.
He bent to the books again, and this time succeeded in binding them together. As he fastened the buckle, drops of perspiration fell from his forehead.
Emily thanked him, and held forth her hand for the books. He took it in his own.
‘Miss Hood—’
She drew her hand away, almost by force, and retreated a step; his face terrified her.
‘I sent Jessie off on purpose,’ he continued. ‘I knew you were here, and wanted to speak to you alone. Since I met you that day on the Heath, I have had no rest—I’ve wanted so to see you again. The other morning at the Cartwrights’ it was almost more than I could do to go away. I don’t know what’s come to me; I can’t put you out of my thoughts for one minute; I can’t give my attention to business, to anything. I meant to have gone away before now, but I’ve put it off, day after day; once or twice I’ve all but come to your house, to ask to see you—’
He spoke in a hurried, breathless way, almost with violence; passion was forcing the words from him, in spite of a shame which kept his face on fire. There was something boyish in the simplicity of his phrases; he seemed to be making a confession that was compelled by fear, and at length his speech lost itself in incoherence. He stood with his eyes fixed on the ground; perspiration covered his face.
‘Mr. Dagworthy—’
Emily tried to break the intolerable silence. Her strength was answering now to the demand upon it; his utter abashment before her could not but help her to calmness. But the sound of her first word gave him voice again.
‘Let me speak first,’ he broke forth, now looking full at her. ‘That’s nothing of what I wanted to say; it sounds as if I wasn’t man enough to know my own mind. I know it well enough, and I must say all I have to say, whilst you’re here to listen to me. After all, you’re only a girl; but if you’d come here straight from heaven, I couldn’t find it harder to speak to you.’
‘Mr. Dagworthy, don’t speak like this—don’t say more—I beg you not to! I cannot listen as you would wish me to.’
‘You can’t listen? But you don’t know what I have to say still,’ he urged, with hasty entreaty, his voice softer. ‘I’m asking nothing yet; I only want you to know how you’ve made me feel towards you. No feeling will ever come to you like this that’s come to me, but I want you to know of it, to try and understand what it means—to try and think of me. I don’t ask for yes or no, it wouldn’t be reasonable; you haven’t had to think of me in this way. But God knows how I shall live without you; it would be the cruelest word woman ever said if you refused even to give me a hope.’
‘I cannot—do hear me—it is not in my power to give you hope.’
‘Oh, you say that because you think you must, because I have come to you so suddenly; I have offended you by
