He had caught a glimpse of Neil McGuire's stalwart form passing from the field to the cabin, and for some reason, best known to himself, did not wish those keen gray eyes to note his presence. The young girl now reached the screen of bushes, and with one glance behind her, passed them, and then was tightly clasped in the strong arms of Poynter.
"For shame, Mr. Poynter, to surprise me in that way!" pouted the dainty lips, as Nora glided from the embrace.
"But, Nora, 'tis all your own fault, if I am obliged to surprise you, as you say," laughed the young man.
"And why so?" innocently queried the maiden, with the slightest possible toss of her pretty head.
"Well, pet, the fact is, I have a serious monomania, that troubles a—"
"A what? Is it any thing very dangerous?" asked Nora, with a startled air.
"That depends," he laughed again. "But, as I was saying, the disease is beyond my power to cure. It is, that whenever I see a dainty little rosebud mouth, like one that shall be nameless, I feel an irresistible desire to just stoop my head and see if it is as sweet as it looks!"
"Oh, you horrid creature! I thought you were sick, or something," pouted Nora, half turning away.
"Now you're mad, and I've got something of importance to tell you."
"No, I am not mad; but you talk so queer at times, that I can't understand you. You seem to delight in making sport of me."