Thomas Hardy: The Woodlanders

41. CHAPTER XLI.

The first hundred yards of their course lay under motionless trees, whose upper foliage began to hiss with falling drops of rain. By the time that they emerged upon a glade it rained heavily.

"This is awkward," said Grace, with an effort to hide her concern.

Winterborne stopped. "Grace," he said, preserving a strictly business manner which belied him, "you cannot go to Sherton to-night."

"But I must!"

"Why? It is nine miles from here. It is almost an impossibility in this rain."

"True--WHY?" she replied, mournfully, at the end of a silence. "What is reputation to me?"

"Now hearken," said Giles. "You won't--go back to your--"

"No, no, no! Don't make me!" she cried, piteously.

"Then let us turn." They slowly retraced their steps, and again stood before his door. "Now, this house from this moment is yours, and not mine," he said, deliberately. "I have a place near by where I can stay very well."

Her face had drooped. "Oh!" she murmured, as she saw the dilemma. "What have I done!"

There was a smell of something burning within, and he looked through the window. The rabbit that he had been cooking to coax a weak appetite was beginning to char. "Please go in and attend to it," he said. "Do what you like. Now I leave. You will find everything about the hut that is necessary."

"But, Giles--your supper," she exclaimed. "An out-house would do for me--anything--till to-morrow at day-break!"

He signified a negative. "I tell you to go in--you may catch agues out here in your delicate state. You can give me my supper through the window, if you feel well enough. I'll wait a while."