"Miss—Dai-sy! Miss—Dai-sy!"
It was Hannibal, who had returned from a drive with Mr. Fern. They could see him dimly coming across the lawn with the girl's cloak in his hand. Daisy, with one quick grasp of the fingers that hung close to hers, said good-night to her companion, and started in the direction of the servant. If she intended—as seemed probable—to pretend she was out alone, Roseleaf did not mean to share in that deception, and he followed close behind her.
"Here I am, Hannibal," called Daisy. "Ah, you have my coat. It was very kind of you. Has papa come home? I am coming in. I did not think how late it was."
The negro stopped as he saw the strollers, and knew that they had undoubtedly been together. What more he suspected no one can say with certainty. But he threw the cloak upon the grass that bordered the pathway and turned on his heel without a word.
"Confound his impudence!" exclaimed Roseleaf, when he had recovered sufficiently from his surprise to speak. "I have a good notion to follow him and box his ears."
The soft hand of the girl was on his sleeve in a moment.
"Say nothing to him—please!" she answered. "He—he is very thoughtful for me—of my health—and I was careless. Papa must have sent him."
The touch on his arm mollified the young man at once. He tried to make out the lines of the pretty face that was so near him and yet so far away.
"We are to study again to-morrow, then," he said, taking up her statement with an assumed air of gayety. "At what hour?"
But she broke away from him abruptly, and ran into the house without a word. Hannibal stood in the doorway and Roseleaf thought he distinguished harsh sounds from the negro's lips; but this seemed so incredible that he conceived his senses at fault.