"I shall not mind it at all to-morrow."
Mr. Linden looked at her while she spoke, gravely and intently enough; but then he looked away at the river again, and probably read problems in its soft rippling waters, for he spoke not. Overhead a hawk sailed noiselessly to and fro, on spread wings,—in the trees close at hand a squirrel chattered and barked with his mouth full. The afternoon light left Kildeer river step by step, and the shadows crept after.
Now the one white speck of cloud reflected in that peaceful stream was no break in its beauty,—it marred nothing, nay, even brought a little glow of its own to replace the sunbeams. Yet at that speck did Mr. Linden take aim—sending his pebble so surely, so powerfully, that the mirror itself was shattered to the remotest shore! Then he stood up and announced that it was time to go.
Faith stood up, but stood still, and waited somewhat anxiously upon the answer to her question.
"Then, Mr. Linden, you will not speak of it any more?"
"The witness is discharged," he answered lightly, and walking on.
She sprang after and placed herself directly in his way.
"Mr. Linden—please give me your promise!"
He looked down at her with eyes that were a little moved.
"Miss Faith," he said, "please give me yours!"