"Oh, it will be bright moonlight in a few minutes," she protested nervously, not looking at the doctor.
"I will walk home with Mrs. Richie," William said.
"No! oh, no; please don't!" The dismay in her voice was unmistakable.
Dr. Lavendar thrust out a perplexed lower lip. "If she'd rather just go by herself, Willy, there are no highwaymen in Old Chester, and—"
But William King interrupted him gently. "I wish to speak to Mrs.
Richie." And Dr. Lavendar held his tongue.
"I am sorry to bother you," William said, as he held the gate open for her; "but I felt I must speak to you."
Helena made no reply. All the way down the street, almost to the foot of the hill, Old Chester's evening stillness was unbroken, except for the rustle of fallen leaves under their feet. Suddenly the great disk of the hunter's moon lifted slowly up behind the hills, and the night splintered like a dark crystal; sheets of light spread sharply in the open road, gulfs of shadow deepened under trees and beside walls. It was as abrupt as sound. William King broke into hurried words as though he had been challenged: "I knew you didn't want me to walk home with you, but indeed you ought not to go up the hill alone. Please take my arm; the flagging is so uneven here."
"No, thank you."
"Mrs. Richie, please don't feel that I am not your friend, just because—Indeed, I think I am more your friend than I ever was. You will believe that, won't you?"
"Oh, I suppose so; that is the way saints always talk to sinners."