Again he felt the warmth and pressure of her arm, as if she would say, “I know I shall be safe with you to protect me.”
They were passing King’s Chapel. Its gray walls never had seemed so picturesque as on that evening with the moon casting the shadows of pillar, cornice, roof, and tower upon the pure white snow that had fallen through the day. Beyond it were the young elms of Long Acre, twig and limb a mass of glittering diamonds. They stood at last beneath the portico of her home.
“I have been thinking,” she said, “of the strange happenings that have come to us—how you have been my protector from insult. I cannot express my gratitude, Mr. Walden.”
“Please do not mention it, Miss Newville. I should indeed be a poltroon did I not resent an indignity to a lady, especially to you. I esteem it an honor to have made your acquaintance. May I say I cannot find words to express the pleasure I have had in your society? I do not know that I shall see you again before we start on our homeward journey.”
“Must you go? Can you not prolong your stay?”
King’s Chapel, 1895.
“We have already overstayed our time; but not to our regret. I never shall forget, Miss Newville, these days and evenings which you, with Berinthia, Tom, Miss Shrimpton, and Roger Stanley have made so enjoyable.”
“I trust we shall not be like ships that signal each other in mid-ocean, then sail away never to meet again,” she replied.