"Katharine!"
She started to her feet with a cry that haunted his memory years after, and stood before him, shaking in all her limbs. Why did she not fling her arms about his neck as she had done at parting? Why did she shrink and gather the cloak so timidly around her? Did the shadow of some great wrong fall upon her with its sundering power?
"Katharine, you know me, but don't seem glad that I have come."
"Not glad—oh, my heart is dumb with joy! I thought—I feared that you were dead, Nelson, and the idea was driving me crazy. I was trying to pray when you came up."
She stole timidly toward him and held out her hand.
"Is it real—are you alive and here? Oh how good you are, coming to our house the first moment to see me, for I know well enough you did want to see me—while I was doubting if you would care about me after being away so long, and wondering what I should do. You are not changed, Nelson; you love me yet as well—better than ever."
There was something in the girl's manner that Thrasher did not understand. She seemed frightened, and shrunk from approaching him. This was so unlike the childlike affection with which she had hitherto met him, that he stood looking upon her in surprise, mingled with a little irritation.
"Why, Katharine, what is the matter? You are so changed—it may be the moonlight, but your face seems thinner and less rosy."
She turned her eyes upon him with a wan smile, but did not answer at once.
"You have changed, perhaps, and found some one you like better."