And as she stood, musing, the sound of a rapid step was heard on this garden space, so far consecrate to herself and to the wild things; a darker shadow detached itself from the heavy shade of the yew-tree. She turned round quickly to face it. Sir David was beside her.
“The purity of the morning,” he thought, “and the dawn still in her eyes!”
“David!” she cried, astonished; and a happy rose leapt into her cheek.
“I saw you,” he said, “from my tower.”
She glanced up to the frowning grey stone mass that was beginning to cast sharply its long shadow on the sunlit garden—then she looked back at his face, pallid and a little drawn. And if he had seen the dawn in her eyes she saw in his shadow of the night watch.
“Ah,” she cried and menaced him with her white finger. “No sleep again, David! And your promise?”
“The stars lured me,” he answered, smiling faintly. Ellinor, however, did not smile. The rose flush faded slowly from her face. The stars lured him! Would it then always be so? She gave a little sigh. Then, without speaking, she drew a key from her reticule and slipped it into the lock; it required the effort of both her strong hands to turn it, but she would do it herself.
“Nay, cousin, it is a fancy of mine. I alone am trusted with the keys of the sanctuary. It is I that shall open to you the gate of our Herb-Garden.”
It fell back, groaning on its hinges; and she stood inside, smiling again.
“Come in, David.”