He came in sight of the familiar little farm-house and turned in slowly at the break between the trees. It was growing dark now, but the odor of tobacco was on the air, and looking closely, he could catch the gleam from a glowing pipe-bowl in the doorway. He passed his hand across his brow, almost doubting––it was all so like––before––
A light step came tapping quickly down the 60 pathway toward him. “Guy!” a voice called softly. “Guy, is that you?”
The voice was quite near him now, and he stopped short, a big maple above him.
“Yes, Faith.”
She came up close, peering into the shadow.
“Guy––” she repeated, “Guy, where are you?”
He reached out and clasped her hand; then again, and took both hands. Her breath came quickly. Slowly his arm slipped about her waist, she struggling a little against her own will; then her head fell forward on his breast, and he could feel her whole body tremble.
The man looked out through the rifts in the half-naked trees; into the sky, clear and sparkling beyond; on his face an expression of sadness, of joy, of abandon––all blended indescribably.
Two soft arms crept gently about his neck, and a mass of fluffy hair caressed his face.
“Oh! Guy! Guy!” sobbed the girl, “it’s wicked, I know, but I’m so glad––so glad––”