A wild impulse flooded her brain, like a tidal wave from the sea of her despair. She would appeal to the Squire for a release from her promise—humbly petition his better self to spare her the misery of a marriage, loveless at least on her part. It could only bring sorrow to her, and doubtless unhappiness to him; since he could not wish to wed a wife, who brought him no love, and only deep aversion.
Yes, she would appeal to him—it was the one final hope left her. He must not, could not refuse to release her after such a confession. When at last he started to go, the girl quickly caught up her hat, and said, "I will ride with you along the road a little way."
"And after to-morrow, it will be all the way in life together, eh?" asked the old man jocosely, chucking her under the chin with one of his clumsy fingers. She instinctively shrank from his touch, but followed him into the night.
Without, the elements seemed as foreboding as the girl's own unhappy thoughts. An ominous sky brooded in gloom. In the north a huge pile of clouds, sullen and heavy, lay banked high above the horizon, threatening hills of blackness that seemed to hem in her little world of woe. Gusts of wind from time to time came sweeping by, boisterous heralds, precursors of threatening storm.
As the girl and the old man stood on the platform, after the door was shut behind them, he was the first to speak, as she unconsciously drew a little nearer to his side before a passing gust.
"I must have a kiss, my dear—one little kiss, on this, our marriage eve."
Her first impulse was to push him rudely from her, to deny him flatly such a request, though surely a lover's prerogative on the eve of marriage. Then, remembering the purpose for which she had followed him into the night, and the appeal she was about to make, she quickly realized that she must touch his compassion, not arouse his prejudice, if she would hope to win. Perhaps a submissive acquiescence on her part at this important moment might help to gain her cause.
She paused a brief moment, nerving herself for the trying ordeal, then resolutely putting aside her aversion, holding in check all mutinous thoughts, she hastily put up her lips and lightly touched his red, coarse cheek.
As she did so, a sudden flash from the muttering sky, like a reproof from heaven itself, for the act, made day of the night for one brief instant, and the clearly defined scene was enveloped in darkness again.
The Squire's back was partly turned toward the road, but Sally, looking out full upon it, saw in that brief flash of vivid light, clearly defined against the white background of the pike, Milton Derr standing in the road not ten paces away.