“Tom!” she cried, and young Henderson hearing her voice turned quickly round, and a dusky flush rose to his face as he did so.
“Well, Elsie,” he said, stopping and looking by no means well-pleased, “where have you cast up from?”
“Ah! I’ve followed you ever so far, Tom,” panted the girl; “I’ve been waiting about all the morning trying to see you.”
“That was wasting your time then, Elsie.”
“No, don’t say that, but I could not rest till I saw you. Why did you not come last night, Tom, as you promised?”
“I could not get away; some one came to the Grange.”
“Well I’ve got something to tell you; something that’s nearly driven me mad, though I know it’s nothing but lies—oh, yes, I know that, Tom.”
She looked up in his handsome face as she spoke—the half-averted face—and there was beseeching love and tenderness in her eyes.
“And what is this wonderful thing then, Elsie?” he asked.