“Why, what on earth has that to do with it?” asked Phil, in some surprise.
“You are right,” returned Aspel, with a deprecating smile, “that has nothing to do with it. My wits are wool-gathering, Phil. Go: I will mount guard.”
Phil was gone in a moment, and Aspel leaned his head on his arm against one of the pillars of the portico. He had scarcely breathed a prayer for guidance when May approached. She stopped abruptly, flushed slightly, and hesitated a moment, then, advancing with the hearty air of an old playmate, she frankly held out her hand.
This was enough for Aspel. He had been depressed before; he was in the depths of despair now. If May had only shown confusion, or shyness, or anything but free-and-easy goodwill, hope might have revived, but he was evidently nothing more to her than the old playmate. Hope therefore died, and with its death there came over Aspel the calm subdued air of a crushed but resigned man. He observed her somewhat worn face and his heart melted. He resolved to act a brother’s part to her.
“I’m so glad to meet you at last, May!” he said, returning the kindly grasp of the hand with interest, but quite in a brotherly way.
“You might have seen me long ago. Why did you not come? We would all have been so glad to see you.”
May blushed decidedly as she made this reply, but the shades of evening were falling. Moreover, the pillar near to which they stood threw a deep shadow over them, and Aspel did not observe it. He therefore continued—in a quiet, brotherly way—
“Ah! May, it is cruel of you to ask that. You know that I have been unfit—”
“Nay, I did not mean that,” interrupted May, with eager anxiety; “I meant that since—since—lately, you know—why did you not come?”
“True, May, I might have come lately—praise be to God!—but, but—why should I not speak out? It’s all over now. You know the love I once bore you, May, which you told me I must not speak of, and which I have tried to cure with all the energy of my heart, for I do not want to lose you as a sister—an old playmate at least—though I may not have you as—But, as I said, it’s all over now. I promise never again to intrude this subject on you. Let me rather tell you of the glorious work in which I am at present engaged.”