give another name; and _now_, when I'm getting
on in the world, I have to keep hiding all this at every turn because
people wouldn't think it very pretty conduct. They'd think it was queer
and get up a grand talk. So I've told lies and changed my name, and it's
you that made me, Mr. Bates."

He only took in a small part of the meaning of the words she poured upon
him so quickly, but he could no longer be oblivious to her rage. His joy
in seeing her did not subside; he was panting for breath with the
excitement of it, and his eyes gloated upon her; for his delight in her
life and safety was something wholly apart from any thought of himself,
from the pain her renewed anger must now add to the long-accustomed pain
of his own contrition.

"But how," he whispered, wondering, "how did you get over the hills?
How?--"

"Just how and when I could. 'Twasn't much choice that you left me, Mr.
Bates. It signifies very little now how I got here. I _am_ here. You've
come after the old man that's dead, I suppose. You might have saved
yourself the trouble. He isn't father, if _that's_ what you thought."

He did not even hear the last part of her speech. He grasped at the
breath that seemed trying to elude him.

"You went out into the woods alone," he said, pityingly. He was so
accustomed to give her pity for this that it came easily. "You--you mean
over our hills to the back of the--"

"No, I don't, I wasn't such a silly as to go and die in the hills. I got
across the lake, and I'm here now--that's the main thing, and I want to
know why you're here, and what you're going to do."

Her tone was brutal. It was, though he could not know it, the half
hysterical reaction from that mysterious burst of feeling that had made
her defend him so fiercely against the American's evil imputation.

She was not sufficiently accustomed to ill health to have a quick eye
for it; but she began now to see how very ill he looked. The hair upon
his face and head was damp and matted; his face was sunken,
weather-browned, but bloodless in the colouring. His body seemed
struggling for breath without aid from his will, for she saw he was
thinking only of her. His intense preoccupation in her half fascinated,
half discomforted her, the more so because of the feverish lustre of his
eye.

"I'm sorry you're so ill, Mr. Bates," she said, coldly; "you'd better
lie down."

"Never mind about me," he whispered, eagerly, and feebly moved upon the
seat to get a