"Why it means——"
Earnest, excited, longing to clear himself from the last taint of ungraciousness, David flung out his arms with an impulsive movement. One moment Mary stood waiting, wild hope and joy questioning in her eyes. Then she bent forward.
"Oh, David, David!" she whispered. "Do you mean that?"
Somehow, she lay in his arms. Somehow, their lips met. For Mary, time stood still. Her life hung poised on one consummate happiness, that knew neither past nor future.
A slight noise in the road above her broke the spell. She moved away. They stood facing one another, David flushed and panting, Mary, white and still, while a shadow fell across the wheat, and slowly moved above them. David's eyes were on Mary's frozen face, but Mary, looking past him, saw the back of John's head and shoulders as he rode along the grass at the other side of the hedge that bordered the road from Littledale. Whether John had seen them as he approached, she did not know.
They stood motionless, until John's horse had rounded a bend in the road. Then Mary spoke:
"I think you had better go," she whispered. "You may miss your train."
Silently he stooped for his hat, then stood there, hesitating, as though there was something he would say.
"Please, go," she whispered again. "I would rather."
He turned and left her. The last she heard of him was the sound of his uneven footsteps on the broken road. Once, they stopped and her heart stood still as she awaited his return. Then they passed on again, and died away down the hill.