She held him from her at arm's length for a moment, and then threw her arms about him and clung to him, and shook him despairingly. "Oh, but you mustn't, you mustn't! Who's going to take you away? What shall I do when you're gone?" "I'm dreadfully sorry," said Comethup, miserably. "But you see I can't help it. My father's dead, and my aunt has come down to take me to London. You know, 'Linda, there's the captain, and Brian, and Mr. Theed; you won't be _quite_ alone, will you?" "Oh, it's bad of you, it's cruel of you!" she exclaimed, crying, and shaking him, and clinging to him by turns. "None of them are like you; I don't love any of them as I love you, you know I don't." That was very gratifying to Comethup; he felt his heart swell within him, even in the midst of his misery. "Yes, I know, I know," he said, striving to soothe her. "But I'm coming down to see you, you know; I'm not going away altogether. In fact, I'm not going away at all for a day or two. It hurts me very much, indeed it does, to have to say good-bye at all; but I can't help it, and I don't really want to go at all." But she was not to be soothed or convinced. He left her in the desolate garden, with her arms laid against the trunk of a tree and her head resting upon them. He could scarcely find his way between the big iron gates for the tears in his own eyes. He saw her again, a couple of days later, in the old shoemaker's shop; and then, with the quick forgetfulness of childhood, her sorrow seemed to have gone in great measure, and she asked him eagerly about what he was going to do, and spoke with sparkling eyes of the glories of that London to which he was going--glories which the captain had painted for them. The shoemaker hammered away at his work, apparently without listening; but he must have heard the conversation, for, when Comethup was leaving with the girl, he ceased hammering, looked up, and spoke. "You'd better have stayed here, boy," he said sharply. "Folks that go to great cities lose their dreams, lose everything that's worth the keeping. You'll be rich; you'll wear fine clothes and see fine people; it'll spoil ye. That life spoils 'em all. _He_ came from a great city," he added, in a lower voice. Comethup gently replied that he hoped it would not spoil him; and presently, after gravely shaking hands with Medmer Theed, went away with the girl. But, after they had stepped into the street, the old man came hurriedly to the door and called him back. Waving the girl aside, he bent down and whispered in the boy's ear: "If I've been harsh to ye, don't take heed of it. And look to yourself, boy. I had a dream of ye last night, when the moon was high, and it troubles me. I can't quite make it out, but there was blood upon you, boy, and it frightens me. Look to yourself in that great city. Yes, I remember there was blood upon ye."