Part 13 (2/2)

Arrived at the opposite side of the road, Halsa turned to her companion, and putting out her foot, looked ruefully at it.

”I have made my boots so dusty--what a horrid road this is!”

John glanced round him nervously, then he pulled out his handkerchief.

”May I?” he asked in a hesitating manner as he waved the folds in the air.

”If you would be so kind;” and John, stooping down, brushed away the dust from one dainty foot, and then the other. He could not help lingering over the task.

The widow, looking down on him, smiled to herself. ”He's getting on,”

she murmured, and then--

”I think that will do--thank you so much. I'm afraid you have ruined that handkerchief--I'm so sorry.”

John gave a last brush at the boot before him and rose. He was a little red in the face, but--he was getting on.

”I shall always keep this handkerchief sacredly, Mrs. Lamport,” said he, putting it into his pocket carefully.

”How ridiculous!” And the widow gave a little toss to her head, her colour rising slightly.

They walked down the lane until they reached a small gateway. ”This,”

said Halsa as she pa.s.sed through it, ”takes us into the custard apple garden, immediately behind the palm tree, and my favourite seat is there--near the well.”

Galbraith followed her under the shade of the palms to the orchard.

Their feet crackled over the dry leaves. A rough wooden seat was placed near a banyan tree which spread its shade over the well. Behind the seat was a thick lentena hedge in full bloom, and the b.u.t.terflies were playing in a small cloud over the blossoms. Close to them a few mynas squabbled over some fallen fruit, and a gray squirrel scuttled past their feet up the trunk of the banyan, and chattered shrilly at them from its branches.

The widow sank into the seat with a comfortable purr, and began tracing imaginary diagrams with the end of her parasol among the fallen leaves at her feet. Galbraith remained standing. ”Won't you sit down, Mr. Galbraith?” and Halsa pointed to the vacant s.p.a.ce at her side. ”There's room for two.”

”It is not very warm to-day,” he said, as he accepted the invitation.

”No; I think it is quite cool. Look at the clouds. I shouldn't be surprised if there was rain;” and the widow looked up at the fleecy ma.s.ses which had floated between the sunlight and the earth, hiding the glare and cooling the day.

”Yes, I think we want some rain. This is about the time it usually comes.”

”Does it?” Halsa turned her eyes straight upon Galbraith as she said this and looked at him. They were very pretty eyes, very honest and true.

Galbraith had thought over what he meant to say, but could remember nothing. All at once a desperate courage seemed to possess him.

”Halsa,” he said--his voice was very low and tender--”will you give me this?” He took her hand as he spoke. It lay in his unresistingly. It seemed to return his warm pressure.

The widow's eyes were lowered now, and her cheeks like flame. ”My dear,” he said, and Halsa, lifting up her face, answered, ”I will.”

Galbraith could hardly believe himself. He could almost hear the beating of his own heart as he sat with Halsa Lamport's hand in his.

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