"I am obliged to leave," he answered. "I promised Dr. Raynor. I have to see a country patient for him to-night."
Making his apologies to Mrs. St. Clare for his early departure, and stating the reason, Frank left the house. It was a cold and very light night: the skies clear, the moon intensely bright. Frank went on with his best step. When about half-way across the Bare Plain he met Rosaline Bell. The church clock was striking nine.
"Why, Rose! Have you been all this time at Granny Sandon's?"
"Yes; the whole time," she answered. "I stayed to help her into bed. Poor granny's rheumatism is very bad: she can scarcely do anything for herself."
"Is her rheumatism bad again? I must call and see her. A cold night, is it not?"
"I am nearly perished," she said. "I forgot to take a shawl with me."
But Rosaline did not look perished. The meeting had called up warmth and colouring to her face, so inexpressibly beautiful in the full, bright moonlight. A beauty that might have stirred a heart less susceptible than was Frank Raynor's.
"Perished!" he cried. "Let us have a dance together, Rose." And, seizing her hands, he waltzed round with her on the path, in very lightness of spirit.
"Oh, Mr. Raynor, pray don't! I must be going home, indeed, sir. Mother will think I am lost."
"There! Are you warm now? I must go, also."