“I’ll take care not to let the cat out of the bag. I had thought him dead so long that I never dreamed he could be a bearded man like that. I remember him only as a slight, dark-eyed stripling at Fardale.”
Fardale! The mention of that magic word seemed to give them both a thrill, bringing to them a rush of delightful memories. Her cheeks flushed and her bosom heaved, while a soft sigh escaped her lips.
How beautiful she was! Frank had ever regarded her as the handsomest girl he knew, but at this moment, with the remembrance of those old, sweet days stirring within her heart she seemed far more lovely than ever before.
He was seized by a sudden desire to clasp her to his heart at that moment and declare the passion which had been reawakened within his soul; but he realized that such a sudden action might baffle his purpose, and with a mighty effort he held himself in restraint.
“I have been thinking of those days in Fardale,” she said softly.
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
“So have I.”
She lifted her eyes, and the look she saw in his face surprised her not a little. It was the old, old look of admiration—more than admiration! The moonlight had revealed to her that look the night he kissed her over the gate in front of her home in Fardale.
Then he might not have held himself in check, but she fell back a bit before him, and he fancied her movement was one of repulsion.