The footsteps of the two echoed sharply among the rocks. Their shadows, blent into one, preceded them. Yet the thought of both went further ahead still. There were no flowers now, but the brambles dead-green and russet and gold, still thrust out withered fruit-branches across their path. The leafless trees gave clearer vision now. They could see across the stream. There was the garden, the lawn, and on it, by heaven, reaching down red holly-berries from an old tree was a figure in white--Aura herself!
Ned gave a view holloa. She turned round, waved one hand, then dropping her berries waved both.
The thought of the long round by the rhododendrons and the drawbridge was too much for them. The parapet was low, the stream lower still. In a moment they were over it, and racing to meet her like a couple of schoolboys.
She laughed to see them, holding out both hands.
"What a hurry you are in," she cried. "So you have both come. Grandfather said you wouldn't, but Martha and I thought it wiser to get the two rooms ready--and I was right!"
Her welcome disarmed rivalry, and gave both the young men a desire to fall at her feet and kiss the hem of her garment. But they repressed it.
"Of course we have both come!" replied Ned imperturbably. "Are we not the inseparable two-headed, four-armed, four-legged monster, Edward Cruttenden? don't interrupt me, Ted, I am coming to that by and by. Only Miss--Miss--do you know I don't happen to know your surname. Is it Smith?"
She shook her head with a smile. "Graham--but every one calls me Aura."
"Miss Aura," went on Ned doubtfully.
She looked at him and her eyes twinkled.