“Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. “Look at me. . Here again instinct guided her. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. His grip twisted her wrist. I'm not hungry. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. “We have scarcely mentioned your name. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world.
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