“One vision I’ve seen,” I went on, “one vision, lately. It was–it was––”
I broke abruptly off, remembering suddenly my resolve.
“Come,” said I, “and I’ll show you Mrs. Pillig’s quarters.”
She followed in silence, and peeped with me into the chambers in the ell, smiling a little as she saw Peter’s clothes scattered on the floor and bed. Then, still in silence, and with the golden light of afternoon streaming across the slopes of my farm, we entered the pines by the woodshed, and followed the new path along by the potato field and the pasture wall, pausing here and there to gather the first wild rose buds, and turning down through the cloister at the south.
As we slipped into the corner of the tamarack swamp my heart was beating high, my pulses racing with the recollection of all the tense moments in that grove ahead, since first I met her there. I know not with what feelings she entered. It was plain now even to me that she was masking them in a mood of lightness. She danced ahead over the new plank walk, and laughed back at me over her shoulder as she disappeared into the pines. A second later I found her sitting on the stone I had placed by the pool.
She looked up out of the corners of her eyes. “I should think this would be a good place to wade,” she said.
“So it might,” said I. “Do you want to try it?”
“Do you want to run along to the turn by the road and wait?” The eyes still mocked me.
“No,” said I.
She shook her head sadly. “And I did so want to wade,” she sighed.