Even now, in the autumn twilight, she seemed to smell the subtle sweetness of primrose-blooms and to be looking through a vista of young foliage to see the tall figure which came striding up the glade with masterful steps and had looked long into her eyes.
He was her knight for ever and ever, and she had known it then as they gathered their spring flowers together and laughed like happy children who share a common joy. But she had not dared to dream too tangibly of that vague, intuitive knowledge till they stood together in the moonlight and listened to the faint lapping of water amongst the sedges. Then, as hand touched hand, heart had gone out to heart, and the crown of youth had come to both in the first dream of love.
Dimples played merrily in the flushed cheeks, and Gabrielle was smiling as she looked from the window where westwards a golden sunset flung a halo of glory over the drowsing landscape.
Russet wood, green meadow, silver stream, all transformed by that wondrous hour and light into a beauty which touched the girl's heart as the chords of a perfect melody might have done.
It was the time to dream of love.
And then came a jarring note.
The sparrow-hawk, wheeling high in mid-air, fell with one deadly swoop upon its little feathered victim, and a faint twitter of pain told of death in life.
Gabrielle shuddered.
Ah! supposing Denningham had killed him! What then?
She dared not think, only vaguely wondered whether poor Miss Tabitha had ever had a lover. If so, she would never smile or scoff again at her quaint, old-maidish ways; for the lover might have died, been killed in some wicked duel. Who could say?