before me, sparing a moment's fitful sorrow for the poor wretch who lay
dead there by the cottage door, but returning always in resentful mood
to my lost guinea and Barbara's sore lack of courtesy. If she needed me,
I was ready; but heaven forbid that I should face fresh rebuffs by
seeking her! I would do my duty to her and redeem my pledge. More could
not now be looked for, nay, by no possibility could be welcome; to keep
away from her was to please her best. It was well, for in that her mind
jumped with mine. In two hours now we could set out for Dover.

"Simon, I'm hungry."

The voice came from behind my shoulder, a yard or two away, a voice very
meek and piteous, eloquent of an exhaustion and a weakness so great
that, had they been real, she must have fallen by me, not stood upright
on her feet. Against such stratagems I would be iron. I paid no heed,
but lay like a log.

"Simon, I'm very thirsty too."

Slowly I gathered myself up and, standing, bowed.

"There's a fragment of the pasty," said I; "but the jug is empty."

I did not look in her face and I knew she did not look in mine.

"I can't eat without drinking," she murmured.

"I have nothing with which to buy liquor, and there's nowhere to buy
it."

"But water, Simon? Ah, but I mustn't trouble you."

"I'll go to the cottage and seek some."

"But that's dangerous."

"You shall come to no hurt."

"But you?"

"Indeed I need a draught for myself. I should have gone after one in any
case."

There was a pause, then Barbara said:

"I don't want it. My thirst has passed away."

"Will you take the pasty?"

"No, my hunger is gone too."

I bowed again. We stood in silence for a moment.

"I'll walk a little," said Barbara.

"At your pleasure," said I. "But pray don't go far, there may be
danger."

She turned away and retraced her steps to the beach. The instant she was
gone, I sprang up, seized the jug, and ran at the best of my speed to
the cottage. Jonah Wall lay still across the entrance, no living
creature was in sight; I darted in and looked round for water; a pitcher
stood on the table, and I filled the jug hastily. Then, with a smile of
sour triumph, I hurried back the way I had come. She should have no
cause to complain of me. I had been wronged, and was minded to hug my
grievance and keep the merit of the difference all on my side. That
motive too commonly underlies a seeming patience of wrong. I would not
for the world enrich her wit