"Ah, but give me time--dear Geoffrey, give me time! You have my word."
He controlled himself, warned by her agitation, and her pallor.
"Mayn't we tell Philip--when he comes?"
"Yes, we'll tell Philip--and Lucy--to-night. Not a word!--till then." She
jumped up--"Are you going to climb that crag before tea? I am!"
She led him breathlessly up its steep side and down again. When they
regained the inn, Geoffrey had not even such a butterfly kiss to remember
as she had once given him in the lime-walk at Beechmark; and Lucy, trying
in her eager affection to solve the puzzle they presented her with, had
simply to give it up.
* * * * *
The day grew wilder. Great flights of clouds came up from the west and
fought the sun, and as the afternoon declined, light gusts of rain,
succeeded by bursts of sunshine, began to sweep across the oak-woods. The
landlord of the inn and his sons, who had been mainly responsible for
building the great bonfire on Moel Dun, and the farmers in their gigs who
stopped at the inn door, began to shake their heads over the prospects of
the night.
Pages:
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372