"It is I, Kenny!" he called again.
Once more the firefly glimmer glided toward him.
"Kenny," called Joan in the darkness, "is it really you? You frightened me a little. And why in the world didn't you come home to supper? Hannah's wondering where you are."
But his voice failed him and with shaking hand he took the lantern and held it high above her head. If he could but read her eyes!
Joan glanced up at him in wonder and the hood of her cloak tumbling back upon her shoulders, bared her hair. It shone, in the lantern light, with an odd dark gold. She had never seemed so lovely—or so much a part of the lonely wood.
"Why do you stare so, Kenny?" she asked. "And why are you so—quiet?"
"Mavourneen!" said Kenny. And his eyes implored.
It was not at all what he had meant to say. The word, tell-tale in its tenderness, had seemed to speak itself.
Joan's face flamed. But her eyes were beautiful and kind.
Kenny dropped the lantern with a crash and caught her in his arms. She cried and clung to him in the darkness.