It was a new voice which spoke, a voice which Mr. Ely would never live to hear. And in it there was a hidden music which was sweeter that the music of the birds.
"Yes, Miss Truscott, it is I."
He held out his hand. She timidly advanced, and he advanced a step, and their two hands met. And their eyes met, too. And both of them were still. Then she gently disengaged her hand, and looked at the bracken at her feet.
"Some spirit of the wild wood must have led me. I have come straight up from the station here. It must have been some curious instinct which told me where you would be found."
"Oh, I am often here--you know that I am often here."
"I know you used to be."
"I think that most of my habits are still unchanged. And where have you been this great, long time? I thought that you would never come again."
"Did you think that? Is that true?"
He leaned forward. He spoke in a low, eager, insistent tone, which, for some cause, made the blood surge about the region of her heart, and made her conscious that new life was in her veins.
"Oh! I did not think of it at all. Out of sight is out of mind, you know!"