Part 6 (1/2)

He chuckled. ”What fools they must have looked, those Fauntleroy princes. I wonder if they ever did a stroke of work?”

”No, others planted while they picked the blossoms.”

”There's a heap of that in this world, isn't there? Do you know,”

earnestly, ”one reason I came home was because I thought I'd like to see a Merryvale digging his own garden.”

”You do it very nicely.”

”Thank you.” He said this seriously, and then, realizing for a moment her station, turned away.

”What's this?” She was running among the trees; he dashed after her and in a moment had her cornered.

”The clock struck twelve.”

”No it didn't! Truly it didn't. Besides, you're not Cinderella to-day, you're Snowdrop. You mustn't change parts as fast as that. It isn't Cinderella until to-morrow.”

”I'm afraid I forgot.”

”Of course you did. Come now, and play.”

She shook her head, and then half whispered, looking wistfully into his face, ”My clock is always striking.”

They stood close to one another. The sun s.h.i.+ning through the leaves on her young face showed all its beauty; the small mouth with its delicately curved upper lip; the line of hair over the forehead, two graceful curves that came together in a little peak; the deep, s.h.i.+ning eyes that dropped now under his gaze.

”Just one kiss,” he pleaded.

She shook her head, and he could see her hand clench as though to stop her trembling.

His own trembled as he placed it over hers and stood so close that, though he did not touch her, his presence felt like an embrace.

All the emotions of the night of which she had believed herself master returned, but with redoubled strength. Her whole self, the slender body, the delicate senses, the shy spirit that before had rested happy in the love of home and wood and river, was a wild tumult of pa.s.sionate desire.

To lift up her face and kiss him would be to enter through the golden gates of paradise. But while her heart beat so fast that the blood flooded her cheeks and she was Snowdrop no longer, she did not raise her head.

And then a c.o.c.k that had strayed from its family among the pines and wandered in their direction raised itself upon its toes and began to crow.

They both started, the pink on Hertha's cheeks turned to lifeless white, and like a shadow she slipped away.

Merryvale stood motionless for a time among the trees. ”You wouldn't think it,” he said to himself, looking out upon the golden river, ”but it's a black world.”

”You're late,” declared Pomona shortly, as Hertha entered the kitchen.

The girl did not answer, but, glancing at the clock, saw that she was on time.

Pomona was not in good humor; indeed, Pomona's gloomy moods were frequent, and the household, to some extent, revolved about them. ”I don't know what I should do without Hertha,” Miss Patty was fond of saying, when Pomona was especially exasperating, ”she is always the same.”

But on this day, if Miss Patty had noticed, she would have found in her maid's manner a little trembling unquiet. She did not notice, however, being deeply occupied with Miss Witherspoon, who was proving a stimulating companion. The two had exchanged notes upon the subject of religion to find themselves in pleasant accord, and now were on that most dangerous ground, domestic service.

”You have a wonderful maid,” Miss Witherspoon said, after examining the delicate, handmade waist which Hertha had just finished.

”Hertha is surely a treasure. But she likes it here, so don't, my dear lady, hope by offering her better wages, to entice her North.”