His face lit up with tender triumph. It was as though some timid creature of the woods had been coaxed within reach of a friendly hand; its shyness was vanishing, but dared he as yet take hold?
He asked himself this question many times during their subsequent meetings; the girl would prattle to him confidently enough, and seemed interested in all his doings, past and present, but an impenetrable reserve took possession of her whenever he tried to speak about herself, and once when he offered to accompany her home, she curtly refused.
“Folks ’ud get talkin’,” she said.
Midway in September, Robert thought it time to put matters on a more business-like footing. With every day that passed he had fallen more deeply in love, and it seemed to him only right that their intercourse should be recognised as courtship proper—the necessary preliminary to matrimony.
He approached the trysting-place with a serious face therefore, and, as was his way, came to the point at once.
“We’ve been walkin’ nigh upon seven week now,” he remarked. “Do ye think ye can do wi’ me, lass?”
Rebecca turned sharply towards him with that frightened look in her eyes which he had learned to accept as a warning. This time, however, he was not to be deterred from his purpose, and went on, very gently but steadily:—
“Ye took me on trial, ye know. Will I do, think you?”
“Do for what?” she faltered.
“For a husband, my dear. Ye’ve no need to be scared. I don’t want to hurry ye, but I think ’tis time to put the question straight. I’ve been coortin’ you reg’lar. Coom, will ye wed me?”