The Woodlanders

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.

She bolted the window as directed, and he retreated. His snug place

proved to be a wretched little shelter of the roughest kind, formed of

four hurdles thatched with brake-fern. Underneath were dry sticks,

hay, and other litter of the sort, upon which he sat down; and there in

the dark tried to eat his meal. But his appetite was quite gone. He

pushed the plate aside, and shook up the hay and sacks, so as to form a

rude couch, on which he flung himself down to sleep, for it was getting

late.

But sleep he could not, for many reasons, of which not the least was

thought of his charge. He sat up, and looked towards the cot through

the damp obscurity. With all its external features the same as usual,

he could scarcely believe that it contained the dear friend--he would

not use a warmer name--who had come to him so unexpectedly, and, he

could not help admitting, so rashly.