“She’s comin’ to our beech-tree,” said Robert to himself; “she’s comin’ to meet me.”
And for the moment he saw the world red.
He too turned and began to stride fiercely towards the trysting-place. As he entered the wider track he stopped and looked to his gun. But one barrel was loaded. He twisted round his cartridge bag, and with impatient, trembling fingers found the cartridge for the other barrel.
He reached the beech-tree first and stood gripping his gun tight and glaring up the path, still through that red haze.
All at once he saw her coming, very slowly, with her head bent.
Half-hidden by the tree-trunk he waited, motionless as a statue, for her to give the accustomed signal; at the first sound of it he would shoot her through the heart.
She came quite near, raised her head, and sighed.
Then the keeper made a step towards her; his grip on the gun relaxed.
“You here already?” she asked, and turning towards him laid her little hands upon his breast. It was the first time she had ever voluntarily touched him, and the man started and flushed.
“Robert,” she said falteringly. “I—I—want to tell ’ee summat.”