Betty fingered the slender chain he had placed about her neck. A whistle hung upon it and she thrust it quickly beneath her cloak.
"I shall not forget, nor be afraid, knowing that you are here. I am glad, too, that you do not think me a criminal, even if I have broken the law. When I thought that you were trailing me, spying upon me, I felt that I hated you, but now—"
"'Now'?" he repeated gently, as she hesitated.
"I am deeply grateful, and we—we shall be friends." Betty held out her hand once more, but shyly this time. "Thank you, oh, thank you for all that you have done for me, for all that you would do, and—goodnight."
He took her small hand in both his own and held it tightly for a moment without words. Then she slowly withdrew it and turning moved off into the darkness with the great dog trotting noiselessly at her heels.
For the first time since she had entered that house her spirit was light within her and a great peace and contentment filled her heart. Despite the danger in which she stood, all fear had fallen from her, for was not he there, on guard? Surely nothing would harm her now, no power of darkness or evil would touch her while he waited there, while that little whistle hung about her neck to summon him to her aid. He had believed in her when all the world would have doubted, because he cared for her. And she?
Betty stopped in the wintry path and her clasped hands flew to her breast. What could this strange feeling of happiness mean, which had come to her in the face of her danger, and why had that danger itself become minimized at the mere thought of his watchful presence. Why did she trust him so wholly? Could it be that her faith, her trust in turn, was rooted in something deeper than friendship?
Even as she asked herself the question, the girl's own heart, awakened and singing, gave her answer. It was love!
CHAPTER XVII.
Turned Tables.