CHAPTER XXXI 460
Mr . St . John spoke almost like an automaton : himself only knew the effort it cost him thus to refuse .
" Well , if you are so obstinate , I will leave you ; for I dare not stay any longer : the dew begins to fall . Good evening !"
She held out her hand . He just touched it . " Good evening !" he repeated , in a voice low and hollow as an echo . She turned , but in a moment returned .
" Are you well ?" she asked . Well might she put the question : his face was blanched as her gown .
" Quite well ," he enunciated ; and , with a bow , he left the gate . She went one way ; he another . She turned twice to gaze after him as she tripped fairy-like down the field ; he , as he strode firmly across , never turned at all .
This spectacle of another ' s suffering and sacrifice rapt my thoughts from exclusive meditation on my own . Diana Rivers had designated her brother " inexorable as death ." She had not exaggerated .