She could not think why he told her these things. Had he brought her there on purpose, and was it part of a plan? What was the plan? Catherine asked herself. Was it to startle her suddenly into a retractation—to take an advantage of her by dread? Dread of what? The place was ugly and lonely, but the place could do her no harm. There was a kind of still intensity about her father, which made him dangerous, but Catherine hardly went so far as to say to herself that it might be part of his plan to fasten his hand—the neat, fine, supple hand of a distinguished physician—in her throat. Nevertheless, she receded a step. “I am sure you can be anything you please,” she said. And it was her simple belief. “I am very angry,” he replied, more sharply. “Why has it taken you so suddenly?” “It has not taken me suddenly. I have been raging inwardly for the last six months. But just now this seemed a good place to flare out. It’s so quiet, and we are alone.” “Yes, it’s very quiet,” said Catherine vaguely, looking about her. “Won’t you come back to the carriage?” “In a moment. Do you mean that in all this time you have not yielded an inch?” “I would if I could, father; but I can’t.” The Doctor looked round him too. “Should you like to be left in such a place as this, to starve?” “What do you mean?” cried the girl. “That will be your fate—that’s how he will leave you.” He would not touch her, but he had touched Morris. The warmth came back to her heart. “That is not true, father,” she broke out, “and you ought not to say it! It is not right, and it’s not true!” He shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not right, because you won’t believe it. But it _is_ true. Come back to the carriage.” He turned away, and she followed him; he went faster, and was presently much in advance. But from time to time he stopped, without turning round, to let her keep up with him, and she made her way forward with difficulty, her heart beating with the excitement of having for the first time spoken to him in violence. By this time it had grown almost dark, and she ended by losing sight of him. But she kept her course, and after a little, the valley making a sudden turn, she gained the road, where the carriage stood waiting. In it sat her father, rigid and silent; in silence, too, she took her place beside him.