And she trembled so violently that the broom slipped out of her hand and fell to the ground.
“I found it on the grass, on the other side of the river,” answered Clifford, who was quite as much agitated as she.
The blood rushed suddenly back to her cheeks, and she began to breathe so heavily that Clifford thought she was in danger of a fit of some sort.
“What—what are you going to do?” she stammered out, waving him back with a gesture which was almost fierce, as he moved forward as if to support her.
“Do? Nothing,” said he.
“You are not going to prosecute me for theft?” asked she, in a tone which she meant to be hard and scoffing, but which was only a pitiful little make-believe, after all.
“Nell, oh, Nell, how can you say such a thing to me?” cried Clifford, hoarsely.
He did not even know that he had called her by her Christian name. But she knew, and in the midst of her agitation she cast at him a shy glance, in which there was a gleam of something that was neither displeasure nor annoyance. He saw it, and his heart went out to the girl; he was ready to kneel at her feet. But she recalled him to his senses with a very unromantic remark:
“If you will excuse me, then, I’ll go on with my sweeping.”
And with great vigor and energy she resumed her task, leaving Clifford afraid to come within the range of her operations, yet unwilling to retire.