But Joan, pausing for a moment under the Arden Gate before she turned home, saw the full glory of the sunset. She heard, contending with the chimes, the last roll of the organ playing the worshippers out of that mountain of sacrificial stone.
She looked up and saw a green cloud, faintly green like early spring leafage, curl from the tower smoke-wise; and there, lifting his hat, pausing at her side, was Johnny St. Leath.
She would have hurried on; she was not happy. Things were not right at home. Something wrong with father, with mother, with Falk. Something wrong, too, with herself. She had heard in the town the talk about this girl who was coming to the Castle for the Jubilee time, coming to marry Johnny. Coming to marry him because she was rich and handsome. Lovely. Lady St. Leath was determined....
So she would hurry on, murmuring "Good evening." But he stopped her. His face was flushed. Andrew heaved eagerly, hungrily, at his side.
"Miss Brandon. Just a moment. I want to speak to you. Lovely evening, isn't it?...You cut me the other day. Yes, you did. In Orange Street."
"Why?"
She tried to speak coldly.
"We're friends. You know we are. Only in this beastly town no one can be free.... I only want to tell you if I go away--suddenly--I'm coming back. Mind that. You're not to believe anything they say--anything that any one says. I'm coming back. Remember that. We're friends. You must trust me. Do you hear?"
And he was gone, striding off towards the Cathedral, Andrew panting at his heels.
The light was gone too--going, going, gone.