100 WYLDER'S HJ1JVD.
"I don't know, Rachel — I don't like it— I'm not fit
for it. Go back again — go in and lock your door —
we'll not go to him — you need not, you know. He may
stay where he is — let him — I'll not return. I'll get
away. I'll consult Larkin — shall I? Though that
won't do — he's in Wylder's interest — curse him. What
had I best do? I'm not equal to it."
"We must go, Stanley. You said right just now; be
resolute — we are both ruined unless we go. You have
brought it to that— you must come."
"I'm not fit for it, I tell you — I'm not. You were
right, Radie — I think I'm not equal to a business of this
sort, and I won't expose you to such a scene. You re
not equal to it either, I think," and Lake leaned on the
paling.
"Don't mind me — you haven't much hitherto. Go
or stay, I'm equally ruined now, but not equally disgraced;
and go we must, for it is your only chance of escape.
Come, Stanley — for shame!"
In a few minutes more they were walking in deep dark-
ness and silence, side by side, along the path, which di-
verging from the mill-road, penetrates the coppice of that
sequestered gorge, along the bottom of which flows a trib-
utary brook that finds its way a little lower down into the
mill-stream. This deep gully in character a good deal
resembles Redman's Glen, into which it passes, being ful-
ly as deep, and wooded to the summit at both sides, but
much steeper and narrower, and therefore many shades
darker.
They had now reached those rude stone steps, some ten
or fifteen in number, which conduct the narrow footpath
up a particularly steep acclivity, and here Lake lost cour-
age again, for they distinctly heard the footsteps that
paced the platform above.