But his eyes were searching her and she had to lower her own. Then she looked up again, and laughed nervously.
“I—I don’t know—I couldn’t help it.” Again she laughed. “And why did you run? How did you think of coming here?”
“I’ll tell you how, now I’ve caught you.” He started toward her, but she was quickly backing away into the opening of the little park, still laughing.
“Look out for that blow-down back of you!” he called. In the second that she halted to turn and discover his trick he had caught her by the arm.
“There—I caught you fair—now what did you run for?”
“I couldn’t help it.” Her face was crimson. His own was pale under the tan. They could hear the beating of both their hearts. But with his capture made so boldly he was dumb, knowing not what to say.
The faintest pulling of the imprisoned arm aroused him.
“I’d ’a’ followed you till Christmas come if you’d kept on. Clear over the divide and over the whole creation. I never would have given you up. I’m never going to.”
He caught her other wrist and sought to draw her to him.
With head down she came, slowly, yielding yet resisting, with little shudders of terror that was yet a strange delight, with eyes that dared give him but one quick little look, half pleading and half fear. But then after a few tense seconds her struggles were all housed far within his arms; there was no longer play for the faintest of them; and she was strained until she felt her heart rush out to him as she had once felt it go to her dream of a single love,—with the utter abandon of the falling water beside them.