After the conversation she had had with him, she was greatly surprised, when, a little after eight o'clock, the garden gate clicked. She ran down the steps hurriedly with his name on her lips. But the figure coming towards her through the dusk was much smaller than Austin's and a voice answered her, in broken English, "It ain't Mr. Gray, missus. It's me."
"Why, Peter!" she said in amazement; "is anything the matter at the farm?"
"No, missus; not vat you'd called vrong."
"What is it, then? Will you come up and sit down?"
He stood fumbling at his hat for a minute, and then settled himself awkwardly on the steps at her feet. His yellow hair was sleekly brushed, his face shone with soap and water, and he had on his best clothes. It was quiet evident that he had come with the distinct purpose of making a call.
"Can dose domestics hear vat ve say?" he asked at length, turning his wide blue eyes upon her, after some minutes of heavy silence.
"Not a word."
"Vell den—you know Mr. Gray and I goin' avay to-morrow."
"Yes, Peter."
"To be gone much as a mont', Mr. Gray say."