She knew every turn of Archie's manner, every inflection of his voice. There was a gathering sign of opposition on his face--the phantom of some mood that must not be allowed to gain an instant's strength. It flashed on her that he had not returned merely to fetch his clothes. There was something wrong. She knew that at this moment he was afraid of her, he who was afraid of nothing else. She stopped in the path and drew herself up, considering where she should strike. Never, never had she failed to bring him to his bearings. There was only one fitting place for him, and that was in the hollow of her hand. "Grandmother, I shall not go back to Balnillo," said he vehemently. If the earth had risen up under her feet Madam Flemington could not have been more astonished. She stood immovable, looking at him, whilst an inward voice, flying through her mind like a snatch of broken sound, told her that she must keep her head. She made no feeble mistake in that moment, for she saw the vital importance of the conflict impending between them with clear eyes. She knew her back to be nearer the wall than it had been yet. Her mind was as agile as her body was by nature indolent, and it was always ready to turn in any direction and look any foe squarely in the face. She was startled, but she could not be shaken. "I've left Balnillo for good," said he again. "I cannot go back--I will not!" "You--_will not?_" said Christian, half closing her eyes. The pupils had contracted, and looked like tiny black beads set in a narrow glitter of grey. "Is that what you have come home to say to _me?_" "It is impossible!" he cried, turning away and flinging out his arms. "It is more than I can do! I will not go man-hunting after Logie. I will go anywhere else, do anything else, but not that!" "There is nothing else for you to do." "Then I will come back here." "That you will not," said Christian. He drew in his breath as if he had been struck. "What are you that you should betray me, and yet think to force yourself on me without my resenting it? What do you think I am that I should suffer it?" She laughed. "I have not betrayed you," said he in a husky voice. The loyal worship he had given her unquestioning through the long dependence and the small but poignant vicissitudes of childhood came back on him like a returning tide and doubled the cruelty of her words. She was the one person against whom he felt unable to defend himself. He loved her truly, and the thought of absolute separation from her came over him like a chill. "I did not think you could speak to me in this way. It is terrible!" he said. His dark eyes were full of pain. He spoke as simply as a little boy.