“It is getting late and damp; we had better be moving,” he says, finally.
They arise and take their way across the pasture, their arms clasped about each other’s waist. Derrick is talking in low, earnest tones, with an infrequent interruption by his companion.
“It’s no use,” he exclaims, impatiently, in reply to a protest on her part. “Twice I have spoken to your father, with the same result. I have been refused and insulted. He is selfish, overbearing—”
She places one hand upon his lips. “But will you not make a third trial—for my sake,” she pleads.
“For your sake I would do anything,” he answers, pressing the soft hand to his lips. “There is no time like the present. Will you wait for me here?” She nods. “Where will I find your father?”
“At the bank. I think he said he would be there all the evening.”
“I will return shortly, for I know what the answer will be.”
She watches the erect form of her lover as he strides down the road leading into the village.
The shadows deepen in the valley. The opalescent light that hangs over the range fades into the darkening gray. The moon rises in full, round splendor and transforms the river into a silver torrent.
The clanging of the Raymond town clock, as it hammers out the hour of 8, rouses the girl. “Derrick should be here soon,” she murmurs. Then she clutches her heart with an exclamation of pain and terror.