May also looked up and turned her head so that she could see out of the window, and the next moment rose with a glad cry.
“It’s John!” she said, and as she spoke she ran out of the room into the hall, just as John Temple was entering it.
“John! dear John!” she cried, and without a word he took her in his arms and pressed her, nay crushed her, against his breast.
“John!” again May murmured, and then she raised her head and looked in his face.
It was pale and agitated, and he spoke no word. And as she looked at him he pressed his lips on hers and something in his expression, something even in his touch, with the swift and subtle knowledge of love, thrilled her heart with sudden fear.
“Is anything the matter?” she whispered. “John, are you ill?”
“I am not very well,” he answered, slowly and painfully.
“Oh, I’m so sorry—how long have you been ill?” asked May, anxiously.
“I am only tired, I think; I will tell the driver of the cab to stop—I want you to go out with me for a little while, May.”