“You hear that impatient wretch! I must leave you, darling, but I shall be back in a month, and I’ll write you while I’m gone. Wear this ring, but keep our sweet secret till I give you leave to speak. I must conciliate my little world first, you know. One kiss, darling, and don’t forget your absent boy.”
He kissed the sweet lips a dozen times, and felt her tears raining down her cheeks till they mixed their salty taste with the sweetness of her mouth. She could not speak one word more after her sweet impulsive avowal of her love, only trembled in his arms, with tears in her eyes and smiles on her lips, like April weather, till he snatched one last passionate kiss, and tore himself away.
Floy dashed the tears from her eyes and listened sadly to the carriage wheels as they rolled away, then turning back to the cottage door, knocked loudly for admittance.
CHAPTER XII.
“WHEN I AM MARRIED!” CRIED FLOY.
Pretty soon John Banks, in an old frayed dressing-gown, opened the door himself, exclaiming:
“I thought you were going to stay all night with the girls, dearie!”
“I changed my mind,” she answered, softly; then threw her arms around his neck, laughing, and whispering: “I’m sorry I disturbed your nap, you dear old darling, but I’ll creep softly up to my room, and you can go to sleep again directly, can’t you?”
“Yes, I hope so; but I’ve not slept well to-night. My head aches a little. Maybe it will be all right in the morning. I’m glad you came home to-night, dear, I always feel better when you are in the house.”
“Do you, Uncle John? Oh, how good of you, when I’m nothing but a care to you, after all—a care and expense!”