They had walked round to the top of the “Corkscrew” by this time, and now the bell sounded below that told the dinner hour was ended.
“I must be gone,” he said. “Fix your day for coming back, Medora, and Mrs. Trivett will tell me to-morrow. The sooner the better.”
“I want to come as quickly as they’ll let me,” she answered.
Doubt and care were in the young man’s eyes. A rare emotion touched him, and there was something yearning in his voice as he stood and held her hands.
“Don’t let any shadow rise between us,” he begged.
“Of course not; why should it?”
He put his arms round her, and to her surprise kissed her.
“Good-bye—take care of yourself and come back quickly. I won’t bother you about the lecture any more,” he promised.
Then he ran down the hill, and Medora watched him go. She was regretting the kiss. When she had hungered for kisses, they did not come. Such a thing now was insipid—fruit over-ripe, doubtful as a delicacy past its season. She believed that she had frightened him into this display of emotion. His promise not to trouble her again about the lecture was also a sign of weakness. She thawed, and felt almost sorry for him. Jordan was growing fainter, it seemed to her. His outlines began to blur even after a few days’ absence from him. An overpowering desire to see Ned again oppressed her.