“Do you mind my asking whither you are bound just now?”
“Not at all,” she answered, pleasantly, “only I can’t say definitely, because I don’t know. I shall probably fetch up at the nearest open square where there is some green grass on which I can rest my eyes a bit, and either lose myself or find myself for a little while.”
“May I go with you?” He made the request a little timidly, for she had a high-handed way with him that made him a little afraid of her, though she attracted him with resistless force.
“I shall be pleased.” Her voice had a sincere ring in it that flushed his face with pleasure. “You are always a good companion, because you don’t tire me talking too much.”
“A dubious compliment, but I am grateful for it, nevertheless. Though if it be intended as a hint for me to keep silent this morning it will not be taken, that’s all.”
They walked away together with the manner of persons accustomed to seeing much of each other.
The wide old streets had birds twittering in the trees, and sunshine warm upon them. The air was soft and mild, and brought with it the gentle melancholy peculiar to spring, a melancholy that creates or awakes a strange unrest, and makes us long to go journeying to far countries, we know not why.
Each of these two were touched by the spirit of this unrest. They spoke of the beauty of the day, of the joy of idling now and then, so sweet to busy people, but soon fell into silence, for their thoughts were not with their words. The young man’s eyes became misty from time to time, though his companion saw it not, for she did not look at his face. He was thinking that in after years he should often recall this walk. On his mind he was painting every object his eyes encountered, that he might treasure it as a comforting picture in the possible lonely future.
After wandering about awhile they sat down in a tiny park near a fountain, and idly watched the water spraying in the sunshine.
“How long have you been here, Miss Hill?” Kendall asked abruptly.