He sat thoughtfully toying with his fork for a few minutes:
“Do you think that he wishes it?”
“No, I do not; he never offers me the slightest token of affection, for which I am indeed grateful; truly, I do not believe that he ever thinks of it.” She laughed in an embarrassed manner.
“Taking it altogether, Wilbur, Arthur, and—ourselves, it’s a queer business.”
Edith flushed a fiery red; but if she intended an answer, which is doubtful, Arthur’s returning step put an end to the conversation. He at once seated himself at the table, and ate like one famished. A few evenings later Wilbur again came to dinner with Arthur and Gus. The air was very warm and pleasant, and after dinner they all went into the sitting room; the windows opened down to the floor, and were flung wide to admit the sweet, fresh evening air; a long vine-draped porch ran along the whole front of the house.
“Do not have lights, they call the insects, and it is much pleasanter to sit on the porch,” said Edith.
Seated there, a strange silence fell over them; the full moon rode through the sky like a stately silver ship; a faint breeze stirred the leaves on the vines, and cast fitful arabesques on the floor; a cricket chirped lonesomely in the grass; dark shadows lay weirdly across the winding walks. Wilbur sat close to Edith, the shadows half enveloping them; in their concealment his hand had sought hers, and clasped it fondly. Arthur sat at the far end of the porch, in the densest gloom; only the fiery tip of his cigar betraying his presence. Gus lay stretched on a wooden settee, his eyes fixed dreamily on a few light, fleecy clouds showing through a break in the vines.
There was a faint rustling sound just where the foliage grew the most dense; the leaves were cautiously parted, and a pallid, vengeful face looked through. The intruder seemed as much surprised as were the group seated there; she had evidently expected to find the porch untenanted, and the sight revealed seemed to drive her to a frenzy of madness; a ray of moonlight fell upon the clasped hands of Edith and Wilbur, also showing the look of devotion upon Wilbur’s face, as he was bending toward her in the act of speaking.
There was a flash, the report of a pistol, intermingled with wild screams, and a hoarse, strange cry from Arthur:
“Andalusia! Andalusia!” Then, something wildly, rapidly spoken in a strange language; the vengeful, defiant air speedily changing to wonder and amazement; tones of fierce remonstrance from him, and scornful disbelief from her; then a word or two of pleading; a light in her eyes like blazing stars, and obeying his fierce gestures she slipped away among the winding walks, shadowy trees and shrubbery.