Part 8 (2/2)

Could it be possible? Was not he mistaken? No! the man's voice was Masters'; the child's, Octavia's; the woman's, HERS.

He remained silent in the shadow. The school-room was not far from the trail where she would have had to pa.s.s going home from the ball. But why had she come there? had they seen him arrive? and were mischievously watching him? The sound of Cressy's voice and the lifting of the unprotected window near the door convinced him to the contrary.

”There, that'll do. Now you two can step aside. 'Tave, take him over to yon fence, and keep him there till I get in. No--thank you, sir--I can a.s.sist myself. I've done it before. It ain't the first time I've been through this window, is it, 'Tave?”

Ford's heart stopped beating. There was a moment of laughing expostulation, the sound of retreating voices, the sudden darkening of the window, the billowy sweep of a skirt, the faint quick flash of a little ankle, and Cressy McKinstry swung herself into the room and dropped lightly on the floor.

She advanced eagerly up the moonlit pa.s.sage between the two rows of benches. Suddenly she stopped; the master rose at the same moment with outstretched warning hand to check the cry of terror he felt sure would rise to her lips. But he did not know the lazy nerves of the girl before him. She uttered no outcry. And even in the faint dim light he could see only the same expression of conscious understanding come over her face that he had seen in the ball-room, mingled with a vague joy that parted her breathless lips. As he moved quickly forward their hands met; she caught his with a quick significant pressure and darted back to the window.

”Oh, 'Tave!” (very languidly.)

”Yes.”

”You two had better wait for me at the edge of the trail yonder, and keep a lookout for folks going by. Don't let them see you hanging round so near. Do you hear? I'm all right.”

With her hand still meaningly lifted, she stood gazing at the two figures until they slowly receded towards the distant trail. Then she turned as he approached her, the reflection of the moonlit road striking up into her s.h.i.+ning eyes and eager waiting face. A dozen questions were upon his lips, a dozen replies were ready upon hers. But they were never uttered, for the next moment her eyes half closed, she leaned forward and fell--into a kiss.

She was the first to recover, holding his face in her hands, turned towards the moonlight, her own in pa.s.sionate shadow. ”Listen,” she said quickly. ”They think I came here to look for something I left in my desk. They thought it high fun to come with me--these two. I did come to look for something--not in my desk, but yours.”

”Was it this?” he whispered, taking the myrtle from his breast. She seized it with a light cry, putting it first to her lips and then to his. Then clasping his face again between her soft palms, she turned it to the window and said: ”Look at them and not at me.”

He did so--seeing the two figures slowly walking in the trail. And holding her there firmly against his breast, it seemed a blasphemy to ask the question that had been upon his lips.

”That's not all,” she murmured, moving his face backwards and forwards to her lips as if it were something to which she was giving breath.

”When we came to the woods I felt that you would be here.”

”And feeling that, you brought HIM?” said Ford, drawing back.

”Why not?” she replied indolently. ”Even if he had seen you, I could have managed to have you walk home with me.”

”But do you think it's quite fair? Would he like it?”

”Would HE like it?” she echoed lazily.

”Cressy,” said the young man earnestly, gazing into her shadowed face.

”Have you given him any right to object? Do you understand me?”

She stopped as if thinking. ”Do you want me to call him in?” she said quietly, but without the least trace of archness or coquetry. ”Would you rather he were here--or shall we go out now and meet him? I'll say you just came as I was going out.”

What should he say? ”Cressy,” he asked almost curtly, ”do you love me?”

It seemed such a ridiculous thing to ask, holding her thus in his arms, if it were true; it seemed such a villainous question, if it were not.

”I think I loved you when you first came,” she said slowly. ”It must have been that that made me engage myself to him,” she added simply. ”I knew I loved you, and thought only of you when I was away. I came back because I loved you. I loved you the day you came to see Maw--even when I thought you came to tell her of Masters, and to say that you couldn't take me back.”

”But you don't ask me if I love you?”

”But you do--you couldn't help it now,” she said confidently.

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