He came eagerly forward, a great gladness in his heart.
Margaret was glad, too, as the rose colour in her face might have told him, and she lifted her eyes a moment to his with all the pleasure in them; but they fell before his gaze, for it told her almost too much.
“Which way are you going? Home? So am I. Let us go together—together.” He lingered on the word, for it was sweet to him—he would that they should always go together! “Margaret, say you are glad to see me, if you honestly can.”
“I am unfeignedly glad,” said Margaret in a low voice, and she asked herself how she could possibly be other than glad? But she was almost frightened to find how great the joy was, and how necessary it became that she should keep her feelings under control.
Ah! what a walk that was! They were both so young and so noble—so loving, too,—and all Nature was in sympathy with them. They had plenty to say—at least Dallington had; but the moments when they said nothing, and a soft silence fell upon them, were the sweetest, for they were side by side, and could glance into each other’s eyes when they did not hear the voice which was to the other the best-loved music of the world.
Time passes swiftly under such conditions, and the distance across the fields appeared as nothing. Quite before they expected it the spire of Darentdale Church became visible, and then Dallington turned from the path.
“Let us go this way,” he said. “We do not want to get home just yet, do we?” Margaret hesitated. He asked, “Are you too tired to go farther?”
“No; I am certainly not too tired,” she said. “But I have been away all day, and my grandfather may have wanted me. I must return soon.”
“Very well; we will not go far. But tell me about yourself,” he said. “Do you know that I went to the chapel on my first Sunday evening at home, and saw you?”
“Yes, I know.”