"I'm up here, father. I didn't know it was so late. I'll be down in a minute."
To lie is not the nature of women, but it is often their necessity.
"Bring the arnica with you, me dear— I'm a wounded man! But I'm glad you were at home. I've been nervous 'bout you all day; there's something wrong in this town!"
All that had happened an hour ago. The Colonel was now peacefully snoring with both feet bandaged and elevated upon pillows; and Selah was waiting upon the veranda. She was evidently waiting. When a young and beautiful woman is not waiting for a lover, she does not look so calmly, sweetly indifferent. She is restless. She rises and looks at the moon. Now the moon was looking at Selah, embroidering her white dress with the fairy shadows of leaves, covering her face with a soft splendour, glistening like a crown of light upon her dark hair. That was the difference.
Footsteps sounded upon the gravel. The figure of a man, tall, slender, regnant, was swinging up the walk. Selah did not move. She was that fairest thing in a darkened world, the presence achieved when a woman combines herself with silence, stillness, and moonlight.
The man sprang lightly up the steps.
"Hush!" she whispered, "don't ring the bell!"
"Selah!" he exclaimed, advancing to her. "What a vision you are!"
"Don't speak so loud," she whispered, motioning him to a seat beside her.