I took her hand, and it trembled in my grasp. She looked for a single instant into my face, then dropped her eyes without uttering a word. By that sign I felt convinced that the satisfaction of our clandestine meeting was mutual.
Ah! how deeply I loved her! So deeply, indeed, that in the first moments of our meeting I was tongue-tied.
Surely ours was a strange wooing; but, as will be seen, its dénouement was far stranger.
CHAPTER XXVII
DOROTHY DRUMMOND PREFERS SECRECY
Dorothy looked more worn and anxious than on that morning when I had walked with her in Westbourne Grove. But the air of mystery enveloped her still, and to even the casual observer her face was interesting as that of a woman with some tragic history.
“Miss Drummond,” I said, “it is a real pleasure to me that we meet again.”
She started at the mention of her name, but made no comment, except to say, in her sweet, well-modulated voice: —
“The pleasure is mutual, I assure you, Dr. Pickering.” Then she asked: “How did you know I was staying in this neighbourhood?”
I explained how I had seen her emerge from the farmhouse and gather the flowers, and what old Ben Knutton had told me of her youth.
“I had no idea that you knew this district,” I added.