“Is it you, Edith? Quick! Is it you?”
His quick ear had caught the rustle of her dress on the grass. Even as the words left his lips came the eager answer.
“Yes, Charles; I have come!” And the girl, forgetting all their quarrels, leapt with a glad cry into his arms.
For a time no words were spoken. After that one cry of joy, Edith had laid her head upon his shoulder and sobbed as if her heart would break. At this manifestation of hysteria, Santley was not altogether pleased; but he could say nothing, so he clasped his arms firmly about her, and tried to soothe her sorrow. When at last Edith lifted her head from his shoulder he kissed her lips, and whispered to her so gently that the girl’s heart beat as gladly as it had done the first day that words like these had been spoken.
“There, there,” said the good man, kissing her again, and patting her head like that of a spoilt child. “You are better now, my darling; and remember you must not quarrel with me again. You were breaking your little heart for nothing at all.”
Part of the girls emotion had communicated itself to him; and for the time being, while he stood there holding her to him, feeling her breath upon her cheek, her clinging arms about his neck, he felt almost as passionately disposed as he had done the first day that he told her of his love. As for Edith, a serene happiness and peace seemed to enter into her soul. They stood thus for some time, exchanging whispered words and fond embraces; then the clergyman told her she had better go. A spot or two of rain had fallen, and the sky was clouding over as if for a storm.
“Will you play the organ to-morrow, Edith?” he asked, as they moved away together.
“Yes, if you wish it.”
“I do wish it, Edith; for when you are playing, it seems as if you were helping me with my work.”
Sweet words! She said nothing, but the hand which lay in his pressed his fondly, and he knew that she was pleased.