“A warning, no doubt, in future to be home before dark,” she answered, with a return of her natural spirit. “And I shall have such splendid hair after this rain-water bath.”
The little fire flickered and shifted with every gust of wind that stole into even this protected corner. The rain fell in torrents on the sod roof and washed down the log walls of the hut. The lightning was incessant, the thunder terrific, and as they spoke the trumpetings of heaven often choked the words in their mouths.
“No,” said Gardiner at length, “there was a deeper purpose in your misfortune. It seems too bad to profit by it, but don’t you know—can’t you see, Miss Vane, that I have wanted so long an opportunity to talk with you alone?”
She drew up slightly in the corner where she sat, but did not speak.
“You must know that I have sought your company—your company, and none but yours—since the night I first saw you. My interest—my attention—must have told you long ago—that which I would speak to you in words to-night.”
He was standing, gazing at her across the fire. For months he had rehearsed his declaration, and he felt that he had made a good start. She had not stopped him, and he was encouraged.
“I am very tired,” she murmured.
“As you said a little while ago, surely there must be a purpose in all things,” he continued. “Surely it was such a purpose that brought you to Plainville, and permitted me to know the charm of your personality—the sweet delight of your companionship. Miss Vane—Myrtle—I love you—have loved you since first my eyes fell on your fair face—shall love you always. May I hope?”
She looked up; in her eyes was a strange gleam that sent the young man’s pulses throbbing. Had he known her better he would have read a different meaning in that deep light.
She waited until the echoes of a crack of thunder died away, and then asked, very quietly, “Is it quite fair to press your question after all that has happened to-day?”