There was now no word of formal greeting. None was needed. Each seemingly knew the travail of soul of the other.
Dropping down on the grass by her side he said quietly, as if it were unnecessary that he should speak at all, "I thought you were in the garden this afternoon."
"And I thought you were in the garden," she returned.
He looked at her in wondering gladness, saying, "I had a caller. After that I could not go."
"And I—I too had a caller; and after that I—I could not go." The words were spoken almost in a whisper. Her trembling fingers were picking again at the short young grass; she was looking far away beyond the sweeping line of blue. One foot had slipped a little from under the protecting shelter of the blue skirt. He saw with a flush of anger that the shoe was very shabby. The skirt, too, showed unmistakable signs of wear. He controlled himself with difficulty, saying, "Your caller was—?"
"Miss Charity Jordan. And yours?"
"Elder Jordan." Dan looked away, and when he spoke again he said bitterly, "Then I suppose you know?"
At his tone and manner she turned her face quickly to his, permitting him for the first time to search her eyes. It was as if she wanted to comfort him, to reassure him.
"Yes!" she said softly, gladly, triumphantly, "Yes, I know!"
Something in her confident reply caused the minister to forget all his half-formed resolutions. His work, his life, the possible outcome, the world itself—were lost in the overpowering rush of the passion-flood that swept his being. His deep voice trembled. "Then you know that I love you—love you!"