“Well, I'll decide by next Friday night,” Cynthia said; “that's all I can promise now. It is a most important matter and I shall give it a great deal of thought. I see the way you look at it.”
“But, Cynthia,” he cautioned her, “don't tell a soul that I've been here. They think I'm dead; let them continue to do so. Friday night just leave a note saying that you have gone off with me and that you will write the particulars later. But we won't write till we have put a good many miles behind us. Your mother' will raise a lot of fuss, but we can't help that.”
“I shall not mention it to any one,” the girl agreed, and she rose and stood before him, half turned to go.
“Then kiss me, dearest,” he pleaded, seizing her hands and holding them tight—“kiss me of your own accord; you know you never have done that, not even once, since I've known you.”
“No; don't ask me to do that,” she said, firmly, “for that would be absolute consent, and I tell you, Nelson, frankly, I have not yet fully decided. You must not build on it too much.”
“Oh, don't talk that way, darling. Don't let me carry a horrible doubt for a whole week. Do say something that will keep up my hopes.”
“All I can say is that I'll decide by Friday night,” she repeated. “And if I go I shall be ready. Good-night, Nelson; I can't stay out longer.” He walked with her as far as he could safely do so in the direction of the farm-house, and then they parted without further words.
“She'll go—the dear little thing,” he said to himself, enthusiastically, as he walked through the orchard. When he had climbed over the fence he paused, looked back, and shrugged his shoulders. An unpleasant thrill passed over him. It was the very spot on which he had met Pole Baker that night and had been so soundly reprimanded for his indiscretion in quitting Nathan Porter's premises in such a stealthy manner.
Suddenly Floyd pressed his hand to his waistcoat-pocket and drew out a tiny object that glittered in the moonlight. “The engagement ring!” he exclaimed, in a tone of deep disappointment; “and I forgot to give it to her. What a fool I was, when she's never had a diamond in her life! Well”—he looked hesitatingly towards the farm-house—“it wouldn't do to call her back now. I'll keep it till Friday night. Like an idiot, I forgot, too, in my excitement, to tell her where we are to be married—that is, if she will go; but she won't desert me—I can trust her. She will be my wife—my wife!”