There was no light in the garden-hall, but Aunt Rosa's windows were unusually brilliant and a youthful shadow was marked out on the white curtain. That must be the expected niece.
Gertrude walked on in the gravel-walks; the nightingales were singing and there were sounds of singing in the steward's room, a deep sympathetic tenor and a sorrowful melody.
On and on she went in the fragrant garden. Then she cried out suddenly,
"Frank!"
She had come upon him suddenly at a turning of the path.
"Gertrude!" returned he, trying to take her hand.
"Don't touch me!" she cried. "I was not looking for you, but as we have met, I will ask you for something."
In order to support herself she clutched the branches of a lilac-bush with her little hand.
"With all my heart, Gertrude," he replied gently. "Forgive my violence, anger catches me unawares sometimes. I promise you it shall not happen again."
He stopped, waiting to hear her request. For a while they stood there in silence, then she spoke slowly, almost unintelligibly in her great agitation. "Give me my freedom again--it is impossible any longer to--"