"None whatever that I know of," said Loring, finding it necessary to interpose; "and where is Mrs. Fletcher's?"
"Ah, to be sure. Mrs. Fletcher is the name of the lady who boarded there awhile, but she has gone to Gate City. Mrs. Burton it is—a worthy soul. Perhaps, indeed I think, a breath of air will do me good. I might walk around there with you."
So despite the remonstrance in his sister's eyes and Loring's respectful protest, the rector got his hat and linked his arm in that of the young athlete on his left, and led forth into the gloaming, prattling all the way. Soon they reached the cross street that led northward, parallel with the bluff line at the west, and against the twilight of the northern sky, the scattered houses, the few straggling saplings hopefully planted along the gutter, even the silhouetted figure of a long-legged dog, trotting across the road, were outlined sharp and, clear, black against a lemon horizon that shaded away imperceptibly into a faint violet. Long years after Loring could see the picture, and how, right in the midst of it, there rose slowly into view two black dots, the heads, evidently, of two pedestrians like themselves, ascending from the north, with the whole wide Missouri valley at their backs, the pathway he and his genially chatting conductor were threading from the south, with only this gentle rise between them, perhaps fifty yards away. It was interesting to the Engineer to watch the gradual development of the shadows against the sky, coming slowly into view as the fairies rise to sweet, thrilling melody, from underneath the stage in the transformation scene of the last act of the pantomime and spectacular drama beloved of our youth. Courteously inclining his ear to the monologue at his right, he kept his keen eyes fixed upon those coming figures. Slowly they rose, one that of a slender, dapper man, the other that of a slender, graceful girl, and the long arms of the former as they swung in sight were in energetic motion, in emphatic gesture. Little by little the murmur at Loring's right dulled over his senses. Little by little the slowly approaching figures sharpened and fixed themselves upon his sight, until when the pair could not have been more than fifty feet away, the rector looked suddenly up in alarm, as Loring halted short.
"My dear young friend, how thoughtless I am! Are you not well? What is wrong?"
A big wooden house, in whose windows the lights were feebly shining, stood just a few paces back of the fence, back of the gate where now the pair was standing, in low whispered talk, eager and impetuous on part of the man, doubtful and reluctant on part of the girl. Then the former became suddenly aware that two men were standing only a short distance away, observing:
"Then, good-night," he said. "You think it over;" and, without raising his hat, turned sharply and went striding back the way they came.
Only one glance did Loring give that receding figure, but his eyes followed that of the girl, who skimmed lightly up the steps and into the house, banging the door behind her.
The rector was clinging to his arm and looking into his face with much concern when Loring pulled himself together.
"This is Mrs. Burton's," said he. "Let us enter. Surely you need a glass of wine, or—water," he added vaguely.