"Robert?" she questioned, still in a dream, and not realizing that she had used a name only whispered in her own heart till now.
"Yes, Sara," was the reply, "I have come—were you waiting for me?"
Still only half herself, so sudden and surprising was all this, she answered in his own tone, quiet, but threaded with deep meaning,—
"Yes, I—think I was."
He drew her to him, whispered three little words—and the new moon, just dipping her last upturned horn beneath the horizon, may have seen their kiss of betrothal; but if so, she modestly withdrew from sight, and never told the sweet secret.
I suppose my story should properly end here, but Sara felt that hers was just beginning. With arm linked in arm the two went softly down the steps, and strolled through the odorous hush of the garden, trying to tell the emotions of three years in as many minutes, while the unconscious couple within sang, and sparred, and sang again, perfectly certain of their unseen listener outside. After the first few moments, in which they could think of nothing but their own two selves, so strangely and quickly bound into one, Sara asked,—
"But how did you happen to be here just now, Robert?"
"Because I came! I was like a chained beast all the time you were ill, though Molly's letters gave only the most cheering news, but I knew I couldn't see you if I were here, and I mustn't leave aunt; but when word came from uncle that he was down with a malarial attack at Omaha, on his way home, and she started at once to nurse him, I made up my mind very shortly as to my next move—which was to pack my grip and come on, to 'put my courage to the test, to win or lose it all.'"
"It required a great deal of courage!" laughed Sara.
"More than you think, sweetheart. I was not at all sure of your feelings towards me—to tell the truth, I have been horribly jealous of that singing-fellow—what's his name—Garth, isn't it?"