"Well, well, good-bye," said she regretfully. She raised her face to his, and he caught her to his heart.
"To-morrow will never come," said he.
"Oh yes, it will—it will! And it will bring you!"
They clung to each other, and kissed and kissed again. Then he left her, and she stood waving her hand to him until the scented twilight hid him from her sight.
She turned back then from the rustic gate, and took a step or two towards the house. Presently she paused, smiling—thinking hopefully of all that he had said. He loved her, as she loved him. Her face was beautiful in its delight, as she so stood thinking on her love.
Suddenly she turned, as if hearing something, and the smile faded from her lips. A shadow lay across her path. She knew quite well who it was, even before Darkham's hand was laid upon her arm!
CHAPTER XXIII
Agatha remained quite still. Her heart was beating wildly, but she showed no outward sign of fear, and it was too dark now for him to see that her face was as white a death.
"Take away your hand," she said, presently, in a tone that startled even herself, it was so calm, and with a touch of dignity in it not to be withstood. Truly, "courage mounteth with occasion."
Darkham let her go instinctively, but he still stood facing her, and through the deepening of the night she felt that his eyes were on her. At last he spoke.