Rain fell in heavy drops.
'We shall get wet,' she murmured, as if she were answering the fly-man, who
had said again, 'Drive you to the station in ten minutes!' She hated the
man for his persistency.
'Say you will come with me!' Hubert whispered; and all the while the rain
came down heavier.
'No, no, Hubert.... I cannot; I promised Emily that I never would. I am
going back.'
'Then we must say good-bye. I will not go back.'
'You don't mean it. You don't really intend me to go back to Emily and tell
her?... She will not believe me; she will think I have sent you away to
gain my own end. Hubert, you mustn't leave me ... and in all this wet. See
how it rains! I shall never be able to get home alone.'
'I will drive you on as far as the lodge-gate; farther than the lodge I
will not go. Nothing in the world shall tempt me to pass it.'
At a sign from Hubert the little fly-man scrambled down from his box. He
was a little old man, almost hunchbacked, with small mud-coloured eyes and
a fringe of white beard about his sallow, discoloured face. He was dressed
in a pale yellow jacket and waistcoat, and they both noticed that his
crooked little legs were covered with a pair of pepper-and-salt trousers.
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