"Yes, I know," said Dorcas, half frightened at his manner. "When did you get back from Boston?"
"Saturday night. And I am going again to-morrow. And then—Dorcas—I shall stay."
"Stay?"
"Stay,—till you tell me to come back, maybe!"
"Why, where are you going, Swan?"
"To China, Dorcas."
"I want to know!" exclaimed she.
"Just it,—and no two ways about it. Sold out to Sawtell. Now you have it, Dorcas!"
This curt and abrupt dialogue needed no more words. The rest was made out fully by the bright color on each face, the sparkling interest on the bent brow of Dorcas, and the deep, mellow voice, full of tenderness and hope, mixed with stern decision, on the part of Swan Day.
No wonder Dorcas's eyes had a glamour over them as she listened and looked. What did she see? A slight, erect figure, with Napoleonic features, animated with admiration and sensibility; emotion glorifying the rich, deep eyes, and making them look in the twilight like stars; and over all, the indefinable ease that comes from knowledge of the world, however small that world may be.