“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“Oh, no!” she assured him, and as they walked on, out of the sight of the laughing group behind them, an ease came over him.
“Do you know where the well is?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “It’s down here. I could have come just as well as not.”
“I’m glad to come,” he said; and then he added, “with you.”
They had reached the wooden pump behind the pavilion. The little sheet of water curved away like a crescent, following the course of the stream of which it was but a widening. Its little islands were mirrored in its surface. The sun was just going down, the sky beyond the lake was rosy, and the same rosy hue now suffused everything; the waters themselves were reddened.
It was very still, and the peace of the evening lay on them both. Lavinia stood motionless, and looked out across the water to the little Ohio hills that rolled away toward the west. She stood and gazed a long time, her hands at her sides, yet with their fingers open and extended, as if the beauty of the scene had suddenly transfixed her. Marley did not see the lake or the sun, the islands or the hills; he saw only the girl before him, the outline of her cheek, the down on it showing fine in the pure light, the hair that nestled at her neck, the curve from her shoulder to her arms and down to her intent fingers. At last she sighed, and looked up at him.
“Isn’t it all beautiful?” she said solemnly.
“Beautiful?” he repeated, as if in question, not knowing what she said.
Just then they heard Lawrence hallooing, and Marley began to pump vigorously. He rinsed out the pitcher, then filled it, and they went back, walking closely side by side, and they did not speak all the way.