"Yes. I know it. You will soon be rid of me."
As she spoke her eyes filled with real tears of mortification. Pembroke was a man, and he could not see this, and be as hard as he meant to be. Nevertheless, he did not intend to walk through the field with Madame Koller.
"Come, Elise," he said. "The way is too long for you. You are no walker. It would be best for you to drive home."
"When you call me Elise I will do anything for you," she said—and she was really tired and hated walking for walking's sake.
The carriage drew up, and Pembroke put her in carefully. Old Madame Schmidt said: "That is right, Eliza," and they drove off.
A few yards hid him from their sight, and at that instant he struck out in the path to Isleham. In ten minutes he had overtaken Olivia.
She was surprised to see him.
"What have you done with Madame Koller?"
"Put her in the carriage and sent her home."
A faint flush crept into Olivia's cheeks.
"I have wanted to ask you something for a week or two," she said, "but this is my first opportunity. You know that poor negro, Bob Henry, who is to be tried for murder—I believe he belonged to you, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"His wife was my maid when I was a child. Yesterday she came to see me—just out of her bed from a long fever. She is naturally in great trouble
