"With me, if you please, Miss Faith. I will not intrude upon your business."
"It's no business to be intruded upon!" she said with her simple look into his face. "But Cindy and I can do it. Please do not let me take you away! I am not afraid—much."
"Miss Faith, you want a great many lessons yet!—and I do not deserve this. Don't you know that in Mrs. Derrick's absence I am guardian of her house—and of you? I will go with you, or without you—just as you choose," he added smiling. "If you would rather study than walk, you shall. Is the business too intricate for me to manage?"
"It's only to carry some things to an old woman who is in great want of them. They can't wait till to-morrow. If you will go, Mr. Linden,—I'll be ready in a minute. I'd like to go."
She ran to get ready, and Mr. Linden went to the kitchen and took the basket from Cindy, and then waited at the front door till Faith came, and they went out into the moonlight together. A very bright moonlight, and dark shadows—dark and still; only one of them seemed to move; but that one made Faith glad of her change of companions. Perhaps it made the same suggestion to Mr. Linden, for his first words looked that way.
"Miss Faith, you did not do quite right, to-night. Don't you know—" with a gentle half smiling tone—"you must not let anything make you do wrong?"
Her look and tone were both very confiding, and touched with timidity.
"Did I, Mr. Linden? I didn't mean it."
"I know that—but you must remember for another time." And he went off to other subjects, giving her talk and information that were perhaps better than books. The walk was good, too; the air bracing, and the village sights and sounds in a subsiding glimmer and murmur. The evening out of doors was worth as much as the evening within doors could have been. Faith thought so. The way was down the road that led to Barley point, branching off from that. The distance to the poor cottage seemed short enough, but if it had seemed long Faith would have felt herself well paid—so much was the supply needed, so joyfully was it received. The basket was left there for Mr. Skip to bring home another time, and at a rather late hour in the evening the return walk began.
The night was sharp and frosty, and still, now, with a depth of silence. The moon, high and full, beamed down in silver splendour, and the face of the earth was all white or black. The cold, clear light, the sharp shadows angling and defining everything, the absolute stillness—how well they chimed!—and chime they did, albeit noiselessly. In that bracing air the very steps of the two homeward bound people seemed to spring more light and elastic, and gave little sound. They went on together with a quick even step,—the very walking was pleasant. For a while they talked busily too,—then Thought came in and claimed her place, and words ceased.