At last he comes to the spot where I am.
"Is it you, Leah?"
I do not answer.
The noise in my ears is louder than ever, the hammering in my temples, busier, and it seems to me the kindest and sweetest voice I ever heard.
My not answering matters little to him, he sits down beside me on the log, and looks me straight in the face.
I do not see his look, because I dare not raise my eyes, but I feel how it is scorching me.
"You are a pretty girl, Leah," he says, "it's a pity to hide yourself."
A dreadful crying fit seizes hold of me, and I run away.
The next evening I stayed at home, and the one after. On the third, Friday night, my heart was so heavy, I had to go out—I felt I should suffocate indoors. He was apparently waiting for me in the shadow round a corner of the house, for hardly had I sat down in my accustomed place when he stood before me as though he had grown out of the ground.
"Don't run away from me, Leah," he begged gently. "Believe me, I will do you no harm."