She rose up at his approach; and Howard, affecting a feeble
heartiness, said, "Well, so you have stolen away like me! This is a
sweet place, isn't it; like an old fairy-tale, and haunted by a
Neckan? I won't disturb you--I am going on to the hill--I want a
breath of air."
Maud looked at him rather pitifully, and said nothing for a moment.
Then she said, "Won't you stay a little and talk to me?--I don't
seem to have seen you--there has been so much going on. I want to
tell you about my book, you know--I am going on with that--I shall
soon have some more chapters to show you."
She sate down at one end of the bench, and Howard seated himself
wearily at the other. Maud glanced at him for a moment, but he said
nothing. The sight of her was a sort of torture to him. He longed
with an insupportable longing to fling himself down beside her and
claim her, despairingly and helplessly. He simply could not frame a
sentence.
"You look tired," said Maud. "I don't know what it is, but it seems
as if everything had gone wrong since we came to Cambridge. Do tell
me what it all is--you can trust me. I have been afraid I have
vexed you somehow, and I had hoped we were going to be friends."
She leaned her head on her hand, and looked at him. She looked so
troubled and so frail, that Howard's heart smote him--he must make
an effort; he must not cloud the child's mind; he must just take
what she could give him, and not hamper her in any way.
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