Shirley

readjusted; the bracelet replaced.
    »Do you know that you try me!« he said smiling. »I am a patient sort of man, but my pulse is quickening.«
    »Whatever happens, you will befriend me, Mr. Moore. You will give me the benefit of your self-possession, and not leave me at the mercy of agitated cowards?«
    »I make no promise now. Tell me the tale, and then exact what pledge you will.«
    »It is a very short tale. I took a walk with Isabella and Gertrude one day, about three weeks ago. They reached home before me: I stayed behind to speak to John. After leaving him, I pleased myself with lingering in the lane, where all was very still and shady: I was tired of chattering to the girls, and in no hurry to rejoin them. As I stood leaning against the gate-pillar, thinking some very happy thoughts about my future life – for that morning I imagined that events were beginning to turn as I had long wished them to turn –«
    »Ah! Nunnely had been with her the evening before!« thought Moore, parenthetically.
    »I heard a panting sound; a dog came running up the lane. I know most of the dogs in this neighbourhood; it was Phœbe, one of Mr. Sam Wynne's pointers. The poor creature ran with her head down, her tongue hanging out; she looked as if bruised and beaten all over. I called her; I meant to coax her into the house, and give her some water and dinner; I felt sure she had been ill-used: Mr. Sam often flogs his pointers cruelly. She was too flurried to know me; and when I attempted to pat her head, she turned and snatched at my arm. She bit it so as to draw blood, then ran panting on. Directly after, Mr. Wynne's keeper came up, carrying a gun. He asked if I had seen a dog, I told him I had seen Phœbe.
    ›You had better chain up Tartar, ma'am,‹ he said, ›and tell your people to keep within the house; I am after Phœbe to shoot her, and the groom is gone another way. She is raging mad.‹«
    Mr. Moore leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest; Miss Keeldar resumed her square of silk canvass, and continued the creation of a wreath of Parmese violets.
    »And you told no one, sought no help, no cure: you would not come to me?«
    »I got as far as the school-room door; there my courage failed: I preferred to cushion the matter.«
    »Why? What can I demand better in this world than to be of use to you?«
    »I had no claim.«
    »Monstrous! And you did nothing?«
    »Yes: I walked straight into the laundry, where they are ironing most of the week, now that I have so many guests in the house. While the maid was busy crimping or starching, I took an Italian iron from the fire, and applied the light scarlet glowing tip to my arm: I bored it well in: it cauterized the little wound. Then I went up-stairs.«
    »I daresay you never once groaned?«
    »I am sure I don't know. I was very miserable. Not firm or tranquil at all, I think: there was no calm in my mind.«
    »There was calm in your person. I remember listening the whole time we sat at luncheon, to hear if you moved in the room above: all was quiet.«
    »I was sitting at the foot of the bed, wishing Phœbe had not bitten me.«
    »And alone! You like solitude.«
    »Pardon me.«
    »You disdain sympathy.«
    »Do I, Mr. Moore?«
    »With your powerful mind, you must feel independent of help, of advice, of society.«
    »So be it – since it pleases you.«
    She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly; but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, and then a drop fell.
    Mr. Moore leaned forward on his desk, moved his chair, altered his attitude.
    »If it is not so,« he asked, with a peculiar, mellow change in his voice, »how is it, then?«
    »I don't know.«
    »You do know, but you won't speak: all must be locked up in yourself.«
    »Because it is not worth sharing.«
    »Because nobody can give the high price you require for your confidence. Nobody is rich enough to purchase it. Nobody has the honour, the intellect, the power you demand in your adviser. There is not a shoulder in England on which you would rest your hand for support – far less a bosom which you would permit to pillow your head. Of course you must live alone.«
    »I
can
live alone, if need be. But the question is not how to live – but how to die alone. That strikes me in a more grisly light.«
    »You apprehend the effects of the virus –? You anticipate an indefinitely threatening, dreadful doom –?«
    She bowed.
    »You are very nervous and womanish.«
    »You