e said the
catechism to him and he admonished her. She had listened to him with
that dull half-attention which we give to good-sounding words when our
heart is only alert for something for which we yet wait. She had it
firmly in her mind that he was going to say something on which would
hang her future fate, that he would either still ask her, in spite of
all she had said, to go back with him, or would tell her that he would
not have her now, as the American had done. All her sensibilities lay,
as it were, numb with waiting; she had no purpose concerning the answer
she would make him; her mind was still full of invective and complaint;
it was also full of a dull remorse that might melt into contrition;
either or both must break forth if he said that which appealed to words
in her.

When Bates saw, however, that the little sermon which he had wrung from
his heart with so much pain had not impressed her much, he felt as if he
had never known until then the sharpest pain of sorrow, for although he
did not know what he had hoped for, there had been hope in proportion to
effort, and disappointment, the acutest form of sorrow, cut him to the
heart. He did not moan or bewail, that was not his way. He stood holding
himself stiffly, as was his wont, and pain laid emphasis on the severe
and resolute lines upon his face, for a face that has long been lent as
a vehicle for stern thoughts does not express a milder influence,
although the depths of the heart are broken up.

She looked at his face, and the main drift of what he had said was
interpreted by his look; she had expected censure and took for granted
that all this was reproof.

"I don't see, Mr. Bates"--her tone was full of bitterness--"that you've
got any call to stand there handing me over as if I was a leper."

To which he answered angrily, "Bairn, haven't I told you once and again
that take your sin on my own soul?"

"Well then"--still in angry complaint--"what right have you to be
looking and talking of me as if nothing was to be expected of me but
ill?"

So he believed that it was worse than useless to speak to her. He drew
his hand over his heavy eyebrows. He thought to himself that he would go
home now, that he would start that day or the next and never see her
again, and in the decision he began walking away, forgetting the word
"good-bye" and all its courtesy, because oblivious of everything except
that thought that he was unfit for anything but to go and li