Herbert knew she was in earnest, and stood a moment aghast at being denied what he felt he had a right to claim. He was not accustomed to opposition, and a frown settled on his face, as she said in the tone in which she used to command him when they were children:
“Now you must really go, or I shall fall asleep again, and hark! the clock is striking two, and I do believe I hear father coming. Yes, there he is,”—she continued, as the front door opened and her father appeared, calling to her:
“Daughter, come in. Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, father, I’m coming,” Louie replied, waving her hand to Herbert, who went down the steps farthest from Mr. Grey, so as not to speak to him in passing.
He was not in a mood to talk to anyone, and wanted to be alone, and think over what he had done, and decide if he had acted wisely in being so precipitate.
Meanwhile Louie went to her father, who said:
“Was that young White, hurrying down the walk as if he had been stealing sheep? or was it a lamb he was after?” he added, facetiously, his love of humor coming to the surface.
He had always been proud of Herbert’s evident liking for Louie, and nothing would have pleased him better than to know there was an engagement between them. This Louie suspected, and wanted to tell him what had passed between herself and Herbert, but her promise restrained her, and she answered:
“He brought a lamb back to the fold, and waited a little till the shepherd appeared.”
Then with a good-night she hurried to her room and tried to sleep. But the excitement of the day and evening had driven her drowsiness away, and the twitter of birds was heard outside her window, and the early sun was stealing into her room before she fell into a troubled sleep, in which she dreamed, sometimes of Herbert, sometimes of Fred Lansing, but oftener of the scene of the morning, which she seemed to be living over again, with this difference: that now it was her father’s bank the mob surrounded, with darker, angrier faces than she had ever seen before, while she stood in their midst alone, vainly trying to stem the tide, which bore her at last off her feet and away into darkness and unconsciousness, from which she at last awoke bathed in perspiration, with a cry upon her lips for Herbert to help her.