“May I not tell you what I think about you first?” he asked, very gently.
“Not now,—not yet,” she almost whispered; and now he saw that she was very pale, and her eyes were full of tears. “I could not bear it yet.” And then, as she moved farther away from him, he could see how great was her agitation.
It was a proof of his love and earnestness that he suffered the girl to leave him in this way, that he did not again rejoin her until they were close to the others. In spite of his impatience and his many faults, he was generous enough to understand her without another word. She had not repelled him; she had not silenced him entirely; she had not listened to him and then answered him with scorn. On the contrary, her manner had been soft and subdued, more winning than he had ever known it; and yet she had refused to hearken to his suit. “Not now,—not yet,” she had said, and he could see that her lip quivered, and her beautiful eyes were full of tears. It was too soon, that was what she meant; too soon for him to speak and for her to listen. She owed it to her own dignity that his affection should be put to greater proof than that. She must not be so lightly won; she must not stoop down from her maidenly pride and nobleness at his first words because she had grown to care for him. “It must not be so, however much the denial may cost me,” Phillis had said to herself. But as she joined the others, and came to Nan’s side, she could scarcely steady her voice or raise her eyes, for fear their shy consciousness would betray her. “At last,” and “at last!”—that was the refrain that was ringing so joyously in her heart. Well, and one day he should tell her what he would.
She thought she had silenced him entirely, but she forgot that men were masterful and had cunning ways of their own to compass their ends. Archie had recovered his courage; he had still a word to say, and he meant to say it; and just before the close of the walk, as they were in the darkest part of the Braidwood Road, just where the trees meet overhead, before one reaches the vicarage, Phillis found him again at her side.
“When may I hope that you will listen?” he said. “I am 368 not a patient man: you must remember that, and not make it too hard for me. I should wish to know how soon I may come.”
“Spring is very beautiful in the country,” she answered, almost too confused by this unexpected address to know what she was saying. “I think May is my favorite month, when the hawthorns are out.”
“Thank you, I will come in May.” And then Phillis woke up to the perception of what she had said. “Oh, no, I did not meant that,” she began, incoherently; but this time it was Archie who moved away, with a smile on his face and a certain vivid brightness in his eyes, and her stammered words were lost in the darkness.
The whole week was much occupied by paying farewell visits. On the last afternoon Phillis went down to the White House to say good-bye. It was one of Magdalene’s bad days; but the unquiet hour had passed, and left her, as usual, weak and subdued. Her husband was sitting beside her: as Phillis entered he rose with a smile on his lips. “That is right, Miss Challoner!” he said, heartily. “Magdalene always looks better the moment she hears your voice. Barby is unfortunately out, but I can leave her happily with you.”
“Is he not good?” exclaimed his wife, as soon as he had left them. “He has been sitting with me all the afternoon, my poor Herbert, trying to curb his restlessness, because he knows how much worse I am without him. Am I not a trying wife to him? and yet he says he could not do without me. There, it has passed: let us talk of something else. And so you are going to leave us?” drawing the fresh face down to hers, that she might kiss it again.
“Yes, to-morrow!” trying to stifle a sigh.