As her small form became visible between the paleness of the wooden platform and a luminous patch in the river, she heard a cry, then a hurrying down the rock steps.
He stopped about a yard from her. She did not offer her hand, and after an instant's pause, during which his eyes tried to search her face in the darkness, he took off his hat and drew his hand across his brow with a deep breath.
"I never thought you'd come," he said huskily.
"Well, certainly you had no business to ask me! And I can only stay a very few minutes. Suppose you sit down there."
She pointed to one of the rock steps, while she settled herself again on the seat, some little distance away from him.
Then there was an awkward silence, which Laura took no trouble to break.
Mason broke it at last in desperation.
"You know that I'm an awful hand at saying anything, Miss—Miss Fountain. I can't—so it's no good. But I've got my lesson. I've had a pretty rough time of it, I can tell you, since last week."
"You behaved about as badly as you could—didn't you?" said Laura's soft yet cutting voice out of the dark.
Mason fidgeted.
"I can't make it no better," he said at last. "There's no saying I can, for I can't. And if I did give you excuses, you'd not believe 'em. There was a devil got hold of me that evening—that's the truth on't. And it was only a glass or two I took. Well, there!—I'd have cut my hand off sooner."