His familiar knock echoed through the hall and the maid hastened to open the door.
When Stella stood before him, John seized both her hands and looked into her deep eyes with silent rapture.
“How glorious you are to-night!” he whispered passionately.
She made no answer save the sensitive smile of triumph which lighted her face and quivered through her form.
“I meant to find a seat on the lawn to-night, but it’s going to rain.”
“Yes, I ran, to get here first,” he cried with boyish enthusiasm—“It’s raining now, but the old davenport under the stairs is cosey on a rainy night.”
She looked at the panel door and hesitated.
“You’re not afraid of ghosts from below I hope?” he laughed.
“No, I’ve locked the iron door,” she announced soberly, taking her seat by his side.
With a vivid flash of lightning followed by a crash of thunder the storm broke, the big raindrops mixed with hail rattling furiously against the windows.