The French windows of the pastor’s sitting-room were open, for the day was like a spring one. Madge moved quickly across the patch of grass, mounted the stoop, and peered in.
In a large rocker, looking very frail and ill, the young pastor was lying back with his eyes closed.
Madge felt her eyes fill with tears. She lifted the disguising veil, and wiped the salt drops away. She did not lower her veil again, but with a little glad cry of—
“Homer, dear love!” she crossed the threshold, and dropped on her knees by his side, flung her arms around his neck, and laid her hot lips to his.
It was like a dream to him—a wondrous, delicious dream. His thin arms clasped her. His kisses were rained upon her, but at first he found no words to say. Between their passionately-exchanged kisses she poured out, in rapid, caress-punctured speech, how she came to be there.
“I have not seen mumma or poppa yet,” she explained; “but I met Judge Anstey down by the depot. I have sent him home for mumma and poppa; they will be here in no time now. The Judge will come with them, and will marry us right off, dear. For, say, you do want some nursing.”
He found his voice at last, declared that her coming, her first kiss, had made him strong; that he would need no nursing now that she had come. Getting on to his feet, he gathered her into his arms, and rained fresh kisses upon her lips, her cheeks, her brow, her eyes.
She managed to whisper the good news, “I have found Jesus, dear, or He found me, and now——”
A sound of voices and of hurrying steps outside checked her. She had only time to tear herself from his arms when her mother and father reached her side.