“I—I was whistling a little.”
“And you came here for that?”
“Why should I not?”
“You are right—I am not going to forbid you.”
She had pressed her forehead against the trellis-work and looked at him. Both were silent.
“Will you come in?” she asked then—probably not knowing what she said.
“Shall I climb the fence?” he retorted, quite innocently.
She smiled. “No,” she said, shaking her head; “they could see you from the window, and that would not do. But I must speak to you. Wait; I will come out and walk a little way with you.”
She pushed a loose bar aside and slipped out; then she gave him her hand, and said, “You were right to have come; I have often longed to speak to you, but you were never there.” And she sighed deeply, as if the remembrance of sad hours overpowered her.
His whole body trembled. The sight of the maidenly figure, who in her night-garb stood before him so chaste and unconscious, almost took away his breath. His temples hammered, he bent his eyes to the ground.