"Grizel, you might have given her a little time to recover from this man's faithlessness," was what his heart cried. He believed that Grizel had told David, and for the last time in his life he was angry with her. He strode down the hill savagely towards Caddam Wood, where he knew he should find her.
Soon he saw her. She was on one of the many tiny paths that lead the stranger into the middle of the wood and then leave him there maliciously or because they dare not venture any farther themselves. They could play no tricks on Grizel, however, for she knew and was fond of them all. Tommy had said that she loved them because they were such little paths, that they appealed to her like babies; and perhaps there was something in it.
She came up the path with the swing of one who was gleefully happy. Some of the Thrums people, you remember, said that Grizel strutted because she was so satisfied with herself, and if you like an ugly word, we may say that she strutted to-day. It was her whole being giving utterance to the joy within her that love had brought. As Grizel came up the path on that bright afternoon, she could no more have helped strutting than the bud to open on the appointed day. She was obeying one of Nature's laws. I think I promised long ago to tell you of the day when Grizel would strut no more. Well, this is the day. Observe her strutting for the last time. It was very strange and touching to her to remember in the after years that she had once strutted, but it was still more strange and touching to Tommy.
She was like one overfilled with delight when she saw him. How could she know that he was to strike her?
He did not speak. She was not displeased. When anything so tremendous happened as the meeting of these two, how could they find words at once?
She bent and pressed her lips to his sleeve; but he drew away with a gesture that startled her.
"You are not angry?" she said, stopping.
"Yes," he replied doggedly.
"Not with me?" Her hand went to her heart. "With me!" A wounded animal could not have uttered a cry more pathetic. "Not with me!" She clutched his arm.
"Have I no cause to be angry?" he said.
She looked at him in bewilderment. Could this be he? Oh, could it be she?
"Cause? How could I give you cause?"
It seemed unanswerable to her. How could Grizel do anything that would give him the right to be angry with her? Oh, men, men! will you never understand how absolutely all of her a woman's love can be? If she gives you everything, how can she give you more? She is not another person; she is part of you. Does one finger of your hand plot against another?
He told her sullenly of his scene with the doctor.
"I am very sorry," she said; but her eyes were still searching for the reason why Tommy could be angry with her.
"You made me promise to tell no one," he said, "and I have kept my promise: but you----"
The anguish that was Grizel's then! "You can't think that I told him!" she cried, and she held out her arms as if to remind him of who she was. "You can believe that of your Grizel?"
"I daresay you have not done it wittingly; but this man has guessed, and he could never have guessed it from look or word of mine."
"It must have been I!" she said slowly. "Tell me," she cried like a suppliant, "how have I done it?"
"Your manner, your face," he answered; "it must have been that. I don't blame you. Grizel, but--yes, it must have been that, and it is hard on me."
He was in misery, and these words leaped out. They meant only that it was hard on him if Elspeth had to be told of his engagement in the hour of her dejection. He did not mean to hurt Grizel to the quick. However terrible the loss of his freedom might be to the man who could not love, he always intended to be true to her. But she gave the words a deeper meaning.
She stood so still she seemed to be pondering, and at last she said quietly, as if they had been discussing some problem outside themselves: "Yes, I think it must have been that." She looked long at him.