A noise of wheels in the avenue brought her to her feet with a little start of joy. He had come, and she was possessed of a sudden desire to run away. But she waited, with glad little tremors thrilling her and her heart beating high. She was sure she heard wheels. She went to the window, and, shading her eyes, looked out. A buggy was standing at the gate, but no one got out.
A sudden apprehension seized her, and she hurried into the hail and opened the front door.
"Carter," she called softly out into the night—"Carter, is it you?"
There was no answer, and she came back into the hall and closed the door. On each side of the door was a panel of leaded glass,
and she pressed her face to one of the little square panes, and peered anxiously out. The light from the newel-post behind her emphasized the darkness, so that she could distinguish only the dim outline of the buggy.
Twice she touched the knob before she turned it again; then she resolutely gathered her long white dress in her hand, and passed down the broad stone steps. The wind blew sharply against her, and the pavement was cold to her slippered feet.
"Carter," she called again and again—"Carter, is it you?"
At the gate her scant supply of courage failed. Some one was in the buggy, half lying, half sitting, with his face turned from her. She looked back to the light in the cabin, where the servants would hear if she called. Then the thought of any one else seeing Carter as she had seen him before drove the fear back, and she resolutely opened the gate and went forward.
At her first touch Carter started up
wildly and pushed her from him. "You said you wouldn't give me up; you promised," he said.