“I think that’s true, Jock,” said Mrs. Maclean quietly. “So now I’ll go and find the child.”
She was walking to the door when Garlett asked suddenly: “Where is Jean? Out of doors? I’d rather speak to her there.”
“I’ll see you’re not disturbed.”
Jean Bower was already on her way back to the house when Harry Garlett caught sight of her. She was walking quickly, her whole figure instinct with the joyous buoyancy and grace of happy youth.
When she saw her lover she stopped short, pleased and yet surprised, for he had told her that he was not coming back from the factory till late afternoon.
And then, as he hurried up to her, there swept over her a feeling of sharp misgiving.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked affrightedly.
He took hold of her arm and guided her to a brick path which was now, to them both, filled with delicious associations, for it was here that they had always come, during the few short weeks of their secret engagement, to be alone together. Closed in on either side by old yew hedges, it was the only part of the Bonnie Doon garden really sheltered from prying eyes. Often, nay almost always, their first, their only, kisses, on any given day, were taken and given here, between those high, impenetrable walls of living green. To Jean the yew hedge walk had become holy ground.
And so, as they turned the corner, the girl’s heart began to beat quickly. Here it was that Harry always turned with a sudden, passionate movement, and took her in his arms. But to-day her lover hurried her along the uneven brick path until they reached the extreme end of the shadowed walk.
Then, and not till then, he stopped, and faced her with the words: “We can’t be married to-morrow——”