He led her back into the house, and wished to place her in the one chair by the fireplace in the banqueting-hall. But she would not take it.
“Eat,” she whispered. “If they find you having your supper quietly they will be more likely to believe that there is no one here.”
This was undeniably a good suggestion; and Dick took advantage of it. But hungry as he was, having indeed been half-starved of late, he would have eaten little but for Freda’s insistence. She waited on him herself, cutting bread and butter, making the tea, hovering about like a good spirit. He, however, having hungered for more than bread during these solitary latter days, would have neglected the food before him to watch her tender eyes, to kiss her little hands. But whenever he turned from the table, he felt a peremptory touch on his shoulder, and heard a stamp of Freda’s crutch and her commanding voice saying:
“Eat, eat!”
So the minutes passed by, and their spirits began to rise. For, although they did not tell each other so in so many words, both felt that on this great happiness which was stealing upon them the shadow of a great misfortune could not come.
When he had finished his supper, Dick drew his one chair to the fireside, made Freda sit in it, and curled himself up on the ground at her feet.
“Isn’t it strange,” said the girl, “that they leave us alone so long? You don’t think they have gone away, do you?”
“No such luck, I’m afraid.”
“Hadn’t we better go out and see what they are doing?”
“Why should we leave off being happy any sooner then we need?”