There was something rudely imperative in the girl's manner that forced him to go; but a sinister smile crept over his face as he took his hat and followed her through the back way down to the orchard, over which the purple dusk was gathering, though flashes of sunlight still trembled on the hill-tops.
Judith did not accept the half-offered arm of the young man, but walked by his side, her head erect, her hands moving restlessly, and her black eyes, full of wistful fire, now and then turning upon him.
She leaped over the stone wall without help, though Storms reached out his hand, and frowned darkly when she refused it.
Down to an old gnarled tree, bristling with dead limbs, she led the way, and halted under its shadows.
"What does this mean?" said Storms, in a cold, low voice. "Why do you insist on bringing me here?"
"Because of something that worries me," answered Judith, trembling all over; "because I want to know the truth."
"I wonder if there is a girl in the world who has not something to worry her?" said Storms, with smiling sarcasm. "Well, now, what is the trouble? Have the old magpies been picking you to pieces again?"
"No, it isn't that, but something—I know it isn't true; but it seems to me that I can never draw a long breath till you've told me so over and over again—sworn to it."
A shade of disturbance gathered on the young man's face, but he looked at the girl, as she spoke, with sinister coolness.
"But you do not tell me what this dreadful thing is that takes away your breath."