He was so startled at her voice that he gave a low cry. Moving suddenly—always with him a mark of strong agitation—he first grasped her hand in both his own, then retaining it with one, passed the other hesitatingly up her arm, till it rested upon her warm shoulder. "My God," he said, "you are real! Speak, Virginia—are you real?"
She set her teeth in the effort not to flinch, but she shook so that her trembling was perceptible to him.
"Real? Yes, of course. Did you think I was a ghost?" she asked, shrinking a little backward, so that his hand fell from her shoulder.
"I did! How could you come here? You were ill! Ferris said——"
"But I am better, and I told you in my letter that I should come the first minute that I was able."
"What letter?"
She shuddered a little. Then it was true! Her letter had been kept back! "I telegraphed to-day," she stammered, more and more nervous. "You were out, but the motor met me at the station. When I arrived I told them not to tell you I was here. I—I thought I would tell you myself. Oh, are you angry with me?"
"Angry?" he said with breaking voice. He turned his head aside, for he could not control the working of his face.
"Why are you so surprised to see me?" she ventured, after a pause. "You knew I should come back."
"How could I know it?" he asked, almost inaudibly.