I did not know
until to-day."
She gave her hands, and in another moment his strong arms held her fast
and unresisting--the purifying friendship of those unconscious years
crystallized and perfected at love's first touch.
They said but very little as they walked up and down the lane together,
for half an hour; but as the shadows lengthened, the thought came equally
to both--"What should they do next? How could they part, and yet how stay
together?" Horace, with man's barbarian directness, would have liked to
bear her home to safety and his mother; but the shadow of usage and her
mother stood between, for in spite of the hollow mockery of it all,
Sylvia was still of her household.
"I must take you home," he said at last, "and to-morrow I will come--all
shall be arranged."
"To-night," she whispered, clasping his arm in nervous terror. "Come
back with me and tell her to-night; then I shall feel sure, and not
as if it was not real. And when you have told her,--before whoever
may be there, remember,--go home; do not stop to listen to anything
she may say."
They drove slowly back, and went up the steps to the house, from which
voices and laughter came, hand in hand, like two children; but they were
children no longer when they crossed the threshold and saw Monty Bell in
the group that loitered with Mrs. Latham in the reception hall, waiting
for dinner to be announced.
Sylvia's thin gown was wet with dew, her hair was tossed about, her eyes
big with excitement, and a red spot burned in each cheek in startling
contrast to her pallor--all of which gave her a wild and unusual beauty
that absolutely startled as well as shocked her mother, letting her think
for a second that Sylvia was going to make a scene, had gone mad,
perhaps, and run away, and that the tall man holding her by the hand had
found her and brought her home.
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