"Could you wait?" Salome repeated; and as she spoke two people coming down the road passed her and Philip Percival.
"Salome, is that you?" It was Mrs. Atherton's voice. "Good-night;" and then, as Salome scarcely responded to the greeting, Mr. and Mrs. Atherton passed on.
"Whom could Salome Wilton be talking to so earnestly?" Mrs. Atherton said as they walked away. "It was not one of her brothers."
"No; I think not. You had better speak to her about it. It is far too late for her to be walking here alone with a young man."
"It is very strange. I cannot understand it," Mrs. Atherton said. "Yes; I will speak to her to-morrow. She is such a quiet child, every day I know her and watch her I love her better. I cannot understand it," Mrs. Atherton repeated.
"Yes; I will wait till Christmas for your sake," Philip said. "I see how painful your position is, and I feel indignant with your brother for placing you in it. He ought never to have sent me here. But lest you should think I love money for its own sake, I want to tell you that we are very poor. My father is paralyzed, and my mother gives lessons in music. I have been working hard to save enough money to help my brother to live on his scholarship at Oxford, if, as we hope, he takes one. Also, I am able, by strict economy, to get a few things which brighten my mother's life a little. I don't say this to make you think it is wonderful or praiseworthy. I hope you will not misunderstand me."
"No indeed," Salome said earnestly, looking up at the face she could but dimly see,—"no indeed. I think you are brave and good; and, please, do not give up poor Raymond. Perhaps he may get wiser and more used to this great change in his life."
"Let us hope so, for your sake as well as his own. And now, shall I see you home?"
"Oh no, no; it is quite near—at the end of the road. Good-bye, and thank you very, very much."
Philip Percival stood watching the retreating figure as it went swiftly down the road and was soon lost to sight in the gathering darkness.