Darkness had fallen.
There was scarcely a breath of wind; the stars shone brightly in the steely-blue heavens, and the barometer was steadily rising.
“A splendid night for flying!” I declared, and as Roseye stood with me upon the threshold my arm stole lightly around her waist.
“Yes, dear,” was her reply, as she stood gazing away at the surrounding hills silhouetted against the night sky.
The silence was intense. From the distance, far away from the depth of the opposite valley, came the noise of a train on the main line which ran between London and the sea.
We both looked across the starlight scene, and wondered.
It was only half-past eight, so we went back into the farmer’s best room, and sat before the logs chatting.
In those strenuous days we were seldom alone together. Yet, full well, I knew how she reciprocated my affection, and how her every thought was for my welfare.
Yes. We loved each other truly, and my life would have been one of the most perfect bliss were it not for that gulf of suspicion that had been opened by her inexplicable disappearance. That hour, however, was not the one in which to recall it, so I crushed down its bitter memory. Roseye was mine—and mine alone.
“You really want to go up with me to-night, darling?” I asked, as I again sat beside her upon the frayed old couch before the big blazing fire. “You are not afraid?”