She started and looked up.
Justin Rosenthal stood before her, looking tenderly down into her face.
In the first shock of surprise she gazed at him with widely-dilated eyes, as though he had been an apparition from the unseen world; and she seemed to think that she was in a dream, or that she had lost her reason. Then, as the certainty, the reality of the presence rapidly grew upon her—as she became conscious that it was he, himself, Justin Rosenthal, her lover and her beloved, that was standing before her—an overwhelming rush of joy filled her soul; and before she had time to control her countenance, this joy beamed and radiated from every feature of her beautiful face! It was as if the womanhood kept bound and captive in the lowest depths of her heart by pride and principle had suddenly burst her chains and looked forth in liberty and light. It was but for one instant this womanhood showed itself, for in the next the man-hater reasserted her supremacy, and put a strong guard upon her countenance.
“Well?” said Justin, answering her various changes of countenance with a trusting smile.
“You here!” she exclaimed.
“Yes.”
It was but a word, calmly spoken; but it told everything.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, sternly.
But that assumption of sternness came too late. He had seen the transient flash of an exceeding great joy on her face, and even if he had ever entertained any doubts of her real feeling toward him, those doubts were now forever dispelled.
He seated himself beside her, and then answered: