Phil ran panting up to the oak tree and took Rachel’s hand.
“I did what I could for you, Rachel,” he said. “You saw her—did you not? She kept her face turned to the right, and you must have seen her quite plainly.”
Rachel’s cheeks were blazing like two peonies; the pupils of her eyes were dilated; her lips quivered.
“I saw her!” she exclaimed. “I looked at her, and my heart is hungrier than ever!”
Here she threw herself full length on the ground and burst into passionate sobs.
“Don’t, Rachel!” said Phil. “You puzzle me. Oh, you make my heart ache! Oh, this pain!”
He turned away from Rachel, and leaning against the oak tree writhed in bodily agony. In a moment Rachel had sprung to her feet; her tears had stopped; and raising Phil’s hat she wiped some drops from his white brow.
“I ran a little too fast,” he panted, after a moment or two. “I am a strong boy, but I can’t run very fast; it gives me a stitch; it catches my breath. Oh, yes, thank you, Rachel; I am better now. I am a strong boy, but I can’t run very fast.”
“You are not a bit a strong boy!” said Rachel, wiping away her own tears vigorously. “I have discovered that secret too of yours, Phil. You are always pretending to be strong, but it is only pretense.”