“Why?”
“Because you were so different,” she answered in a lower voice. “Because it was so endless, so hopeless. Spare me!”
“Did you think for me at all, Lizzie?” he asked, as if he were a little stung.
“Not much, Mr. Wrayburn. Not much until tonight.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“I never supposed until tonight that you needed to be thought for. But if you do need to be; if you do truly feel at heart that you have indeed been towards me what you have called yourself tonight, and that there is nothing for us in this life but separation; then Heaven help you, and Heaven bless you!”
The purity with which in these words she expressed something of her own love and her own suffering, made a deep impression on him for the passing time. He held her, almost as if she were sanctified to him by death, and kissed her, once, almost as he might have kissed the dead.
“I promised that I would not accompany you, nor follow you. Shall I keep you in view? You have been agitated, and it’s growing dark.”
“I am used to be out alone at this hour, and I entreat you not to do so.”
“I promise. I can bring myself to promise nothing more tonight, Lizzie, except that I will try what I can do.”
“There is but one means, Mr. Wrayburn, of sparing yourself and of sparing me, every way. Leave this neighbourhood tomorrow morning.”
“I will try.”