O’Donovan was silent for some moments, after they started, doubtless being unaccustomed to escort ladies of her degree in that friendly way. But Salome soon put him at his ease by her kind and easy manner.
“And so you’re going to be promoted,” she said, after a little. “I hope you like that?”
“Miss Shepard,” he blurted out in confused speech, “that’s what I want to talk about. There’s something—I mean, I want to tell—I ought to tell you something, Miss Shepard.”
“Very well. It oughtn’t to be very difficult to do that,” and her tone was cordial and encouraging.
“I don’t think I ought to take the position—unless you say so. But I expect you’ll put me in irons, if I tell you. Only—well, the other fellows would say I was a blasted fool—barrin’ your presence, miss.”
“Why, John,” exclaimed Salome wonderingly. For the young man was in a great state of excitement. “What can it be? Surely, you know you need not be afraid of me?”
“You remember the night some one tried to blow up the mill—and Mr. Greenough—and Mr. Villard——” Salome stood still and gazed through the summer moonlight at her strange escort. He did not look up, but stood like a culprit before her.
“I don’t know how you managed to find out and save ’em,” he went on. “Miss Shepard—it was me.”
“You? John O’Donovan!” For an instant there was silence.
“Go on,” she said, when she could command her voice. “Tell me all.”