"I tol' you not to come no more," she said, eyeing me closely to see the effect of her words.
"But you didn't believe I would stay away!" I retorted, and her face instantly lighted with laughter. "You rogue!" I went on; "I have stayed longer than I should as it is."
One of the quick transitions which marked her now took place, and in a twinkling she was serious, and her eyes grew darker, as still water changes when a cloud hides the sun.
"If Buck sees you here there'll be trouble; you'd better 'a' kep' to Baldy."
"Buck saw me to-day, and there was trouble," I answered. "Now let me tell you all about it."
How frightened she was, although I endeavored to speak in a matter-of-fact way. She regarded me as though she found it difficult to believe that I really existed after "trouble" with Buck, and her face turned white, leaving her freckles oddly prominent. Her pole dipped, too, so that its further end went under the water. So she sat, her hands in her lap, her feet with the ugly, shapeless little shoes swinging, and listened to my story. I told it with absolute truthfulness, but very carefully, even condoning Buck's jealous frenzy. She remained very still while I was talking, but when I came to the place where I had inadvertently glimpsed her in the pool she dropped her head with a short, shuddering gasp, and grew crimson. I, too, looked away then, and tried to tell her how sorry I was of the incident, at the same time endeavoring to make it plain that I was the victim of an accident. I did not dwell upon the situation, but soon hurried on to my encounter with the smith.
"I wanted you to hear just how it was," I ended; "because Buck will tell you another story. You believe me, don't you, Dryad; and we are good friends still, aren't we?"
I did not get an immediate reply. Her head remained sunk, and I could not see much of her face. The portion which I saw was still flushed, but not violently. I waited, knowing that I had stated my case as well as I could, and believing that further argument would be dangerous. The spot where we sat was the natural abode of silence. Now I could hear only the gentle breath of the low wind rustling the leaves, the musical gurgle of water, and the sweet song of a thrush hidden in the foliage to my left. I grew restless as the silence continued: apprehensions arose, and the sinister form of fear cast its shadow over my heart. Was she offended past forgiveness? Had Fate prepared this trap for me to rob me of—what was I thinking? What was this girl to me that I should wait her next words with set teeth and softly drawn breath? That I should now behold the wonder of her hair and the marvel of her face with inward quaking, fearing that they might depart from me forever? That the echo of her voice became a mocking, maddening refrain to my consciousness, and the sorcery of her simple presence made my brain swim? This waif of the woods; this fragment from one of the lower stratas of civilization; this half wild, ignorant, nameless, plebeian creature—what was she to chill my blood with the dread thought that from this meeting we went as strangers? I cannot answer. Leave the solution to biologist or sociologist. I only know the fact as it existed. I had rather have seen those gray eyes flashed upon me in perfect trust that moment than to have seen the sun rise the next morning!
What was she thinking? No movement, no sound, no sign. Like an image fashioned of flame and snow and draped with a moss-green garment, there she sat by my side, so close—so close. Then I knew something of what Tantalus felt when the cool water arose just beneath his cracked and burning lips, and receded as he bent to drink. So close I could have drawn her to me with a sweep of my arm, but mute and changeless as though made of stone.
Presently I could stand it no longer. I placed my palms upon the tree on either side of me, and leaned forward.