“Happen I might take ye there some day,” suggested Robert. “Bulbarrow! that’s not so far.”
A certain startled look in the girl’s eyes warned him that he was going too fast and he hastily changed the subject, embarking on a somewhat incoherent account of his childish adventures among the sand-hills. He went on to describe the dunes themselves more minutely, and then the river which ran along the shore so sluggishly that, however blue and clear the distant sea might be, the waves that broke upon the beach were always brown and muddy.
“That’s not nice,” said Rebecca.
“Nay,” acquiesced Robert unwillingly; “nay, I suppose not, but I liked it well enough.”
“Better than this?” asked the girl quickly.
The man’s sea-blue eyes looked straight into her face.
“Not now,” he said.
Next day when he came to Oakleigh Wood at the usual hour he made straight for the spot where he had heard the fictitious owl-hooting on the previous evening; and his heart leaped high when a repetition of the sound fell upon his ear. A few of his rapid strides brought him to the spot: Rebecca was standing beneath the beech-tree, as before, but so as to face the path, and as he approached she dropped her hand by her side with a little laugh.
“I knowed it was you,” said Robert breathlessly.
“I did it a-purpose,” said she.