He professed friendship with Eileen’s father. He put business her father’s way. He was of the same political leanings. He had met Eileen on many occasions. Brenchfield was a tremendously energetic man; he seemed to be everywhere at once.
Eileen, like other women, could not help admiring him for his forceful handling of other men, for his keen business acumen, for his almost wizardly success.
He had many qualities that appealed strongly to the romantic in her youthful nature; but, girl-like, she had not stopped at any time to analyse the feelings he engendered in her.
And now, up there on the hill, in the chill of the night air, under the stars that hung so low and prominently that one felt one might almost reach up and pluck them from the heavens,––now there came a sudden dread.
It was this inexplicable dread that set her heart athrob.
Brenchfield took her hand from her bosom and patted it gently.
His touch annoyed her. She drew away imperiously, and she shivered.
“Why, little woman!––you are cold and it is very late. How thoughtless of me! Good night, Eileen!”
“Good night!” she returned wearily, closing the door.
The moment he heard the bolts shoot home, Brenchfield’s whole nature changed. An oath came to his lips. He crushed his hat down on his head, leapt the fence and rushed headlong by the short cut down through the orchards––townward.