It
looked as if he thought that she was childishly afraid of him. That
seemed absurd. One day, as they met, and with his usual courteously
curt salutation he was passing by, she observed that it was delightful
weather. As her eye caught his start of surprise, and the expression
of almost overpowering pleasure that passed over his face at her
words, she blushed. She unquestionably blushed and hurried on,
scarcely waiting for his reply. Some days later, as she was taking a
favorite walk over a path among the thickets on the slope of Laurel
Hill, whence the hazy Indian Summer landscape could be seen to
perfection beneath the thin but wonderfully bland sunshine of
November, she again met him face to face. Perhaps it was the color in
her cheeks which reminded him to say:
"You don't look as if you needed to go to Pittsfield for your health
now."
"No," she said, smiling. "When I found I could not go, I concluded I
would get well here."
"I suppose you are very angry with me for stopping you that night,
though it was not I that did it."
"If I were angry, I should not dare tell you, for fear of bringing
down your vengeance on me."
"But are you angry?" he asked anxiously.
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