"Dick," she said, "I must go back at once—before they miss me."
"Go back!" I repeated, "never—that is, not yet."
"But suppose any one saw us!" she said, with a hairpin in her mouth.
"They shan't," I answered; "you will see to that, won't you, Imp?"
"'Course I will, Uncle Dick!"
"Then go you, Sir Knight, and keep faithful ward behind yon apple tree, and let no base varlet hither come; that is, if you see any one, be sure to tell me." The Imp saluted and promptly disappeared behind the apple tree in question, while I stood watching Lisbeth's dexterous fingers and striving to remember a line from Keats descriptive of a beautiful woman in the moonlight. Before I could call it to mind, however, Lisbeth interrupted me.
"Don't you think you might pick up my shawl instead of staring at me as if I was—"
"The most beautiful woman in the world!" I put in.
"Who is catching her death of cold," she laughed, yet for all her light tone her eyes drooped before mine as I obediently wrapped the shawl about her, in the doing of which, my arm being round her, very naturally stayed there, and—wonder of wonders, was not repulsed. And at this very moment, from the shadowy trees behind us, came the rich, clear song of a nightingale.
Oh! most certainly the air was full of magic to-night!