“It is despair that makes her hard!” he thought, and answered gently:
“I did not mean to be a spy, Louise, I was in the hammock when you came here, and presently he came and spoke to you. I could not help hearing what was said until you walked away with him. But—do not look so frightened—I did not follow you!”
He saw a gleam of palpable relief flash into the white face, and comprehended that she was glad he had not heard what was spoken in that walk under the trees.
“But I had heard enough!” he said slowly, after a pause. “Ah, Louise, I was right when I told you that it was a lover who was drawing your heart back to your old home.”
She looked at him pale and startled, but with mute defiance.
“A—a—lover!” she echoed, wildly. “Now I suppose you will go and tell Aunt Thalia of your wonderful discovery!” in a tone of terrified entreaty.
“Why will you wrong me so?” he cried, smarting under the lash of her injustice. “You know I did not betray you before?”
“But—but—why do you meddle with me so?” she cried, with a bewildered air. “You are always finding out things—and—and always blaming me!”
“No, no, child, I do not always blame you, I do not want to meddle—yet I—yet you—seem so ignorant, I ought to—to advise you. Will you listen to me kindly, Louise?”
“Go on,” she answered, folding her hands in her lap and looking so like a martyr that he cried out hastily: