CHAPTER XLIII
STILL ANOTHER CALLER
One afternoon the step coming along the corridor was almost light enough to be Angel's, though a lover's ear told him that hers it was not. Once more that feminine rustle, the very whisper of romantic mystery; again the little feminine knock.
Daintiness and Myrtilla!
"Well, this is lovely of you, Myrtilla! But what courage! How did you ever dare venture into this wild and savage spot,--this mountain-fastness of Bohemia?"
"Yes, it was brave of me, wasn't it?" said Myrtilla, with a little laugh, for which the stairs had hardly left her breath. "But what a climb! It is like having your rooms on the Matterhorn. I think I must write a magazine article: 'How I climbed the fifty-thousand stairs,' with illustrations,--and we could have some quite pretty ones," she said, looking round the room.
"That big skylight is splendid! As close, dear lad, to the stars as you can get it? Are you as devoted to them as ever?"
"Aren't you, Myrtilla?"
"Oh, yes; but they don't get any nearer, you know."
"It's awfully good to see you again, Myrtilla," said Henry, going over to her and taking both her hands. "It's quite a long time, you know, since we had a talk. It was a sweet thought of you to come. You'll have some tea, won't you?"