“Yes,” she said pitifully, “and I love him.”
“Who? Black’erchief Dick?”
“Nay, oh, nay, Mother; nay, Hal, Hal Grame—my love!” A sob rose in her throat but she swallowed it down and continued almost eagerly, “And as he sat there, and I watching, I knew ’twas he I loved, for all his foolings, and I wondered would I creep behind and put my arms about his neck, and put my face to his hair, but I minded I was married to the Spaniard, and I knew I could not wed with Hal, and I wondered what would I do, and then, as I was watching him, he looked up and saw me. His face was very pale, and I have never seen any one but the dead so pale. I thought he would have cried out, for his mouth opened and his lips moved, but he said naught; then he stood up and came toward me, slowly, as though I had been a spirit, and his eyes were so dark and full of something, I know not what—that I put up my hands to hide my face.”
She broke off abruptly and looked round her, and brushed the hair off her forehead before she spoke again—all the time Nan rocked silently to and fro.
“Then I heard him speaking below his breath, and his voice hurt me, Nan; his voice hurt me. ‘Anny,’ he said, ‘Anny, are you come back to me, my love?’ and I heard him fall on his knees at my feet, and I felt his head in my lap and his arms about my waist—and I loved him. Oh, Nan! I loved him so!”
Her hands clutched at the older woman’s gown convulsively.
“Mother, will you tell him? Will you tell him?” she broke out suddenly. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t, not when he was kneeling there more like a young lad than a man.”
Nan stopped rocking and faced the pleading, frantic little girl before her.
“You did not tell him?” she said slowly.
Anny shook her head.