As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. Sheppard was committed to the earth. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. He then said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive. Through that she had to go. She was greatly heartened by doing this.
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