Part 18 (1/2)
”What a clear night it is!” said Flint, stepping out from the shadows.
Winifred started a little. ”I thought you were sitting by the fire,”
she said rather abruptly.
”Indeed,” Flint answered. It was one of his peculiarities never to be drawn on to the explanations to which most people are driven by the mere necessity of saying something. After all, he had as good a right to the place where he was as Miss Anstice herself. Miss Anstice perhaps was thinking the same thought, for she made no response, only stood twisting and untwisting a bit of lawn handkerchief which bade fair to be worn out before it reached home. At length, with the air of one nerving herself to a difficult task, she turned about and faced Flint. Lifting her clear gray eyes full to his, she began hesitatingly:--
”Mr. Flint.”
”Yes, Miss Anstice.”
”Will you do me a favor?”
”a.s.suredly.”
”No, not an 'a.s.suredly' favor, but a real favor.”
”If I can.”
”Will you do it blindly?”
”No, I will do it with my eyes open.”
”You cannot.”
”Try me!”
The girl s.h.i.+fted her eyes from his face to the path of moon beams in which Leonard's boat floated far off like a dark speck against the ripples of light. When she went on, it was in a lower tone, with a note in her voice which Flint had never heard there before,--the note of appeal.
”I am going to ask you a very strange thing,” she said; ”I would not ask it if I could see any other way.”
”Surely, Miss Anstice, you cannot doubt my willingness to oblige you in any way. You have only to command me.”
”But it is not to oblige me. It is--oh, dear! I can't explain, but I want you to go away.”
Flint rose instantly.
”No, no, not away from this spot, but from Nepaug. That's it,” she went on insistently; ”I want you to leave Nepaug.”
Flint stared at her for a moment, as if in doubt whether to question her sanity or her seriousness. The latter he could not doubt, as he looked at her eager att.i.tude, her hands tightly interlaced, her head bent a little forward, and a spot of deep red sharply outlined on either cheek. Suddenly the meaning of her conversation with Leonard flashed across his mind; but it brought only further puzzlement. He motioned Winifred to sit down upon the great tree which lay its length on the earth, overthrown by the last storm, and with stones and upturned dirt still clinging to its branching roots.
”Are you sure,” he said gravely, as he took a seat beside her,--”are you sure that you are doing right to keep me in the dark?”
”I think so; I hope so.”
”Of course I know you would not ask such a thing if there were not something serious back of it all; and since it so nearly concerns me, it seems to me I have a right to know it.”
Dead silence reigned for some minutes. Then Winifred said, speaking low and hurriedly:
”Yes, you are right; I ought to tell you,--I know I ought; but it is so hard. Why isn't it Mr. Brady! He would understand.”