Mary’s heart began to beat wildly, and she drew a long breath; but she would not let hope carry her away for a few moments till she could be certain, and then a faint cry of joy escaped her, but only to be succeeded by a chilling sensation, as something seemed to ask her why he had come.
“I’m late,” cried a well-known voice directly after. “Why, Mary, just in the old spot. It’s like old times. My darling!” He tried to clasp her in his arms, his manner displaying no trace of his injuries; but she thrust him sharply away, half surprised and yet not surprised, for she seemed now to read the man’s character to the full.
“Captain Armstrong!” she cried, hoarsely.
“Why, my dear Mary, don’t be so prudish. You are not going to carry on that old folly?”
“Captain Armstrong, don’t mistake me.”
“Mistake you! No. You are the dearest, loveliest woman I ever saw. There, don’t be huffed because I was so long. I couldn’t get away. You know—” and he again tried to seize her.
“Captain Armstrong—”
“Now, what nonsense! You sent for me, and I have come.”
“Yes. I sent for you because there was no other way of speaking to you alone.”
“Quite right, my darling; and what could be better than here alone? Mary, sweet, it will be dark directly.”