“Not this morning.”
“You ain’t helped me with the boxes.”
“True, I had forgotten; I will help you when I come back. I am going to see Miss Follett.”
Samson grinned again, but he took care now to withdraw his head from any chance of Rowton’s observation.
The morning was clear and frosty; the storm of the night before had completely spent itself; the sky overhead was a watery blue, and the ground beneath felt crisp under Rowton’s feet as he walked. He quickly reached the Grange, and taking a short cut to the house, soon found himself on the lawn, where he had tied Satyr the night before. The door of the old Grange was wide open and Nancy stood on the steps. She heard her lover’s footsteps and greeted him with a very faint smile, which quickly vanished. Her face was ghastly white and red rims disfigured her beautiful grey eyes.
“Here I am,” said Rowton. “Good morning, sweetheart; give me a kiss, won’t you?”
Nancy raised her trembling lips, then all of a sudden her calm gave way, she flung her arms passionately round Rowton’s neck and burst into convulsive sobs.
“There, darling, there,” he said. He patted her on the cheek, kissed her many times and tried to comfort her, showering loving words upon her, and then kissing her more and more passionately.
“You know,” she said at last in an almost inaudible whisper.