John Ellery stood still, with one foot uplifted for a step. The girl looked out over the water and he looked at her. Then a crow, one of several whirling above the pines, spied the intruder and screamed a warning. The minister was startled and stepped back. A dead limb beneath his foot cracked sharply. Grace turned and saw him.
“Oh!” she cried. “Who is it?”
Ellery emerged from the shadow.
“Don't be frightened, Miss Van Horne,” he said. “It is—er—I.”
This statement was neither brilliant nor original; even as an identification it lacked considerable.
“I?” repeated the girl. “Who? Oh! Why—”
The minister came forward.
“Good afternoon, Miss Van Horne,” he stammered. “I'm afraid I frightened you.”
She was looking at him with a queer expression, almost as if she scarcely believed him real.
“I hope—” he began again. She interrupted him.