Fugitives are subject to strange incidents; they are not vessels lying safe in harbour. She shut her lips tight, as if they had stung. The realizing sensitiveness of her quick nature accused them of a loss of bloom. And the man who made her smart like this was formal as a railway official on a platform. "Now we are both pledged in the poison-bowl," said he. "And it has the taste of rank poison, I confess. But the doctor prescribed it, and at sea we must be sailors. Now, Miss Middleton, time presses: will you return with me?" "No! no!" "Where do you propose to go?" "To London; to a friend--Miss Darleton." "What message is there for your father?" "Say I have left a letter for him in a letter to be delivered to you." "To me! And what message for Willoughby?" "My maid Barclay will hand him a letter at noon." "You have sealed Crossjay's fate." "How?" "He is probably at this instant undergoing an interrogation. You may guess at his replies. The letter will expose him, and Willoughby does not pardon." "I regret it. I cannot avoid it. Poor boy! My dear Crossjay! I did not think of how Willoughby might punish him. I was very thoughtless. Mr. Whitford, my pin-money shall go for his education. Later, when I am a little older, I shall be able to support him." "That's an encumbrance; you should not tie yourself to drag it about. You are unalterable, of course, but circumstances are not, and as it happens, women are more subject to them than we are." "But I will not be!" "Your command of them is shown at the present moment." "Because I determine to be free?" "No: because you do the contrary; you don't determine: you run away from the difficulty, and leave it to your father and friends to bear. As for Crossjay, you see you destroy one of his chances. I should have carried him off before this, if I had not thought it prudent to keep him on terms with Willoughby. We'll let Crossjay stand aside. He'll behave like a man of honour, imitating others who have had to do the same for ladies." "Have spoken falsely to shelter cowards, you mean, Mr. Whitford. Oh, I know.--I have but two minutes. The die is cast. I cannot go back. I must get ready. Will you see me to the station? I would rather you should hurry home." "I will see the last of you. I will wait for you here. An express runs ahead of your train, and I have arranged with the clerk for a signal; I have an eye on the window." "You are still my best friend, Mr. Whitford." "Though?" "Well, though you do not perfectly understand what torments have driven me to this." "Carried on tides and blown by winds?" "Ah! you do not understand." "Mysteries?" "Sufferings are not mysteries, they are very simple facts." "Well, then, I don't understand. But decide at once. I wish you to have your free will." She left the room.