A step on the porch—a slight knock at the front door, naturally drew her thoughts and feet thither, but whatever Faith expected she did not expect to see Sam Stoutenburgh. One might almost go further and say he did not expect to see her, for he gazed at her as if she had been an apparition—only that his face was red instead of white.
"How do you do, Sam," said Faith, coming back a little to everyday life. "Do you want to see Mr. Linden?"
"O no, Miss Faith!" said Sam—as if it were the last thing in the world he wanted to see.
"Well Sam—what then?"
But Sam was slow to say what then—or indeed to say anything; and what would have been his success is to this day unknown, for at that moment Mr. Linden came down stairs.
"Do you want me, Sam?" he said, approaching the front door.
"No, sir," said Sam (playing both parts of an unwilling witness)—"I—I thought you were out, Mr. Linden."
"O—" Mr. Linden said. "I beg your pardon!" And he not only went into the parlour but shut the door after him.
To no purpose! With him went the remnant of Sam Stoutenburgh's courage, if he had had any to begin with, and after one more glance at Faith he fairly turned his back and fled—without striking his colours. Faith went back to the parlour.
"What is the matter with the boy?" she said, "I couldn't get anything out of him, Mr. Linden."