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And I lifted my hat, and took the path towards my house.
There was a point ahead where it divided, the other branch leading towards the little private gate through which Georgiana had come. Just before reaching the porch I looked that way, with the idea that I should see Georgiana’s white figure moving across the lawn; but I discovered that she was following me. Mounting my door-steps, I turned. She had paused on the threshold. I waited. At length she said, in a voice low and sorrowful:
“And you are not going to forgive me, Adam?”
“I do forgive you!” The silence fell and lasted. I no longer saw her face. At last her despairing voice barely reached me again:
“And—is—that—all?”
I had no answer to make, and sternly waited for her to go.
