"I cannot bear to think I shall never see it again," she said, after another and longer pause, "and yet I must leave it so soon!"
"Soon!" Granger echoed, with a start. "You are going away soon, then?" he asked, in a husky voice.
"Yes—very soon—in two weeks, I think."
Granger made no reply. He bent his head and began searching among the leaves and moss. His eyes fell upon one of the lady's hands, which lay carelessly by her side, all its perfections and the splendor of its jewels relieved against the crimson background of the shawl.
He could not look away from it, but bent lower and lower, until his hair and his quick breath swept across the fair fingers.
At the touch a wonderful change passed over the woman. She started and trembled violently—her face grew soft and tender. She raised the hand which was upon her lap, bent forward and laid it, hesitatingly, tremblingly, upon the bowed, boyish head.
"Robert! Robert!" she whispered.
Granger raised his head. For a moment, which seemed an age, the two looked into each other's face. Hers was full of yearning tenderness and suffused with blushes—his, rigid and incredulous, yet lighted up with a wild joy. A hoarse cry broke from his lips—he thrust aside the hand which lingered upon his head, sprang to his feet, and went away.
The color faded from Mrs. Jerome's face. She sat, for a moment, as if turned to stone, her eyes, dilated and flashing, fixed upon Granger's retreating figure. Then, with an impetuous gesture, she rose and went to look for Lill. A scream from the little girl fell upon her ears at the same moment. She had strayed out upon a log which extended far into the water, and stood poised, like a bird, upon its extreme end. Round her darted a blue-mailed dragon-fly, against which the little arms were beating in terror. Another instant, and she would be in the water. Mrs. Jerome sprang toward her, but Granger was already there. As he gave the frightened child into her mother's arms, he looked into her face. She returned his gaze with a haughty glance, and walked swiftly toward the boat. He took his seat in the bow and rowed across the lake in silence. Lill buried her scared little face in her mother's lap, and no one spoke. As they landed, a great, dark bird rose suddenly out of the bushes, and with a hideous, mocking cry, like the laugh of a maniac, swept across the water. The woman started and drew the child closer to her breast.
They drove along in silence until within a mile of the Squires' farm, when, without a word, Granger turned into a road over which their drives had never before extended. It was evidently a by-way, and little used, for grass grew thickly between the ruts. On the brow of a hill he halted.