"Yes, yes," she said hurriedly.
"I had always thought that it was you, and I was glad to think so for Barney. But last night"--here a quick flash of joy came into his face at the memory--"I found out, and this morning I could hardly help shouting it as I came along to you." He paused, and, leaning toward her, he took her hand. "Don't you think, Margaret, you might perhaps some time." The piteous entreaty in his voice broke down the girl's proud courage.
"Oh, ****! Oh, ****!" she sobbed, "don't! Don't ask me!" Her sobs came tempestuously.
He put his arms about her and, stroking her yellow hair, gently said, "Never mind, little girl. Don't do that! I can't stand that, and--well, I won't bother you a bit with my affair. Don't think about me. I'll get hold of myself. There now--hush, hush, girlie. Don't cry like that!" He held her close to him, caressing her till she grew quiet.
At length she drew away, saying, "I don't know why I should act like this. I haven't cried for a year. I think I am tired. It has been a hard winter, ****. They used to play and sing together for hours. Oh, it was wonderful music, but I could have shrieked aloud. Don't think me horrid," she went on hurriedly. "I wonder I am not ashamed to tell you. But I never let anyone know, neither of them nor anyone else. Mind you that, ****, no one knows." She sat up straight, her courage coming back. "I never meant to tell you, ****, but you know you took me unaware." A little smile was struggling to the corners of her mouth and a faint flush touched her pale cheek. "But I am glad you know. And, ****, can't we go back? Won't you forget what you have said?" **** had been looking at her, wondering at her courage and self-command, but in his eyes a look of misery that went to the girl's heart.
"Forget!" he cried. "Tell me how."
She shook her head, and then, reading his eyes, she cried aloud, "Oh, ****! must we go on and on like this?" She pressed her hands hard upon her heart. "There's a sore, sore pain right here," she said. "Is there to be no rest, no relief from it? It's been there for two years." She was fast losing her grip of herself again.
Once more he caught her in his strong brown hands.
"Now, Margaret dear, don't do that! We'll help each other somehow.
God--yes, God will help us if He takes any interest in us at all.
He can't let us go on like this!"
The words steadied her.
"I know, ****," she said, a sudden quiet falling upon her, "there has been no one else for all these months, and He has helped me.
He will help you, too. Come," she continued, "let us go."
"No, sit down and talk," replied ****. He looked at his watch. "A quarter after ten," he said, in surprise. "Can the whole world change in one little quarter of an hour?" he asked, looking up at her, "it was ten when I stopped at the hill."
"Come, ****," she said again, "we'll talk another time, I can't trust myself just now. I was going to your mother's."
But **** remained kneeling in the grass where he was. It seemed to him as if he had been in some strange land remote from this common life, and he shrank from contact with the ordinary day and its ordinary doings.
"I can't, Margaret," he said. "You go. Let me fight it out."
She knew too well where he was. "No, ****, I will not leave you here. Come, do." She went quickly to him, kneeled down, put her arms about his neck and kissed him. "Help me, ****," she whispered.
It was the word he needed. He threw his arms about her, kissed her once, and then, as if seized with a frenzy of passion, he kissed, again and again, her hair, her face, her hands, her lips, murmuring in hoarse, passionate tones, "I love you! I love you!" For a few moments she suffered him, and then gently pushed him back and drew apart from him. Her action recalled him to himself.
"Forgive me, Margaret," he cried brokenly, "I'm a great, selfish brute. I think only of myself. Now I'm ready to go. And when I weaken again, don't think me quite a cad."
He sprang up, threw back his shoulders as if adjusting them to a load, gave her his hand, and lifted her up, and together they set off down the lane, the shadow a little lighter as each felt the other near.
