All this time I was wondering where Guinea could be, and was startled by every sound. The mother asked me how Alf looked and how he had acted when I had pictured Millie's leaving home; and I told her mechanically, wondering, listening; and I broke off suddenly, for I thought there was a footstep at the door. No, it was a chicken in the passage. They asked me many questions and I answered without hearing my own words. Mrs. Jucklin went out to the dining-room and the old man began to talk about his chickens. He had found them bloody and stiff, and had buried them in a box lined with an old window curtain. And now there was a step at the door. I looked up and Guinea stood there, looking back, listening to her mother. And thus she stood a long time, I thought, and yet she must have known that I was in the room. Mr. Jucklin spoke to her and she came in, walking very slowly. Her face was pale, with a sadness that smote my heart. She sat down and looked out of the window. Mrs. Jucklin called the old man, and when he was gone I told Guinea that I had left Alf in a convulsive joy; and, still looking out of the window, she said: "You are the noblest man I ever met."
I sprang to my feet, but quickly she lifted her hand and motioned me back, though she still looked away. "Sit down, please. Don't you remember our agreement to be frank with each other?"
"Yes, I remember it, but frankness means the opposite of restraint."
"Yes, but frankness should always have judgment behind it."
"Guinea!" She looked at me. "Guinea, you say that after a while he will kneel at your feet."
"Yes, after a while, Mr. Hawes."
"But let me—let me kneel at your feet now!"
Slowly she shook her head. "No, Mr. Hawes, you must never do that. Sometime we may kneel together, but you must never kneel to me. Now we are frank, aren't we? We may go to church together and hear some one pray a beautiful prayer, a prayer that may seem the echo of our own heart-throbs. Sweet is confidence, and I ask you to have confidence in me. Let me have my way, and when the time is ripe, I will come to you with my hands held out. Yes, when the time is ripe. And then there will be no reproaches and nothing to forgive, but everything to worship and to bless. Oh, I am a great talker when once I am started, Mr. Hawes, and I think all the time. I thought this morning as I stood at the gate, just as you left me standing; I heard you galloping down the road. And do you know what I thought of? It was almost profane, but I thought of the baptizing at the river of Jordan, when the spirit came down like a dove; and I knew what must have been the thrilling touch of that spirit, for the holiness of love had touched my hair. No, Mr. Hawes, not now. There, sit down again and let me talk, for I am started now. Oh, and you thought that I was dumb and feelingless? You mustn't weep; but as for me, why, I am a woman and tears are a woman's inheritance. There, I have said enough, and after this we must speak to each other as friends—until the time when I shall come to you with my hands held out; and then I am going to tell you of a woman who loved a man, not with a halting, half-hearted love, but with a love as broad as God's smile when the earth is in bloom. You didn't know that I was so persistent, did you? Isn't it time for a woman to be persistent? No woman has ever kept silence, they tell us, but women have been constrained to talk around the subject, festooning it with their insinuating fancies. But women are more outspoken now and are permitted to be truer to themselves. Yes, you must have confidence in me; let me indulge my dream a while longer, and then I will come to you, but until then let us be friends."
"But won't you let me tell you something now? Won't you let me tell you that in the moonlight I bowed until my head touched the dust, worshiping you as you stood——"
"No, not now; not until I come. And won't you respect my wishes, even if they are foolish?"