"There sets our sun; at least it is the last we shall look upon
together for a whole year. You go to London to-morrow, don't you?
Before you come back I shall be gone."

"Gone! Why? Where? Oh! what's the use of asking? I knew something of
the sort was coming. I felt it in that horrible old church. And after
all, why should I mind? What does it matter if you go away for a year
or ten years--except that you are the only friend I have--especially
as no doubt you are glad to get out of this dreadful hole? Don't stand
there looking at me like a moon-calf, whatever that may be, but tell
me what you mean, or I'll, I'll----" and she stopped.

Then he told her--well, not quite everything, for he omitted his
father's disparaging remarks about herself.

She listened in her intent fashion, and filled in the gaps without
difficulty.

"I see," she said. "Your father thinks that I am corrupting you about
religion, as though anybody could corrupt you when you have got an
idea into your stupid head; at least, on those subjects. Oh! I hate
him, worse even than I do my own, worse than you do yourself."

Godfrey, thinking aloud, began to quote the Fourth Commandment. She
cut him short:

"Honour my father!" she said. "Why should we honour our fathers unless
they are worthy of honour? What have we to thank them for?"

"Life," suggested Godfrey.