There was now no word of formal greeting. None was needed. Each seemingly
knew the travail of soul of the other.
Dropping down on the grass by her side he said quietly, as if it were
unnecessary that he should speak at all, "I thought you were in the
garden this afternoon."
"And I thought you were in the garden," she returned.
He looked at her in wondering gladness, saying, "I had a caller. After
that I could not go."
"And I--I too had a caller; and after that I--I could not go." The words
were spoken almost in a whisper. Her trembling fingers were picking again
at the short young grass; she was looking far away beyond the sweeping
line of blue. One foot had slipped a little from under the protecting
shelter of the blue skirt. He saw with a flush of anger that the shoe was
very shabby. The skirt, too, showed unmistakable signs of wear. He
controlled himself with difficulty, saying, "Your caller was--?"
"Miss Charity Jordan. And yours?"
"Elder Jordan." Dan looked away, and when he spoke again he said
bitterly, "Then I suppose you know?"
At his tone and manner she turned her face quickly to his, permitting him
for the first time to search her eyes. It was as if she wanted to comfort
him, to reassure him.
"Yes!" she said softly, gladly, triumphantly, "Yes, I know!"
Something in her confident reply caused the minister to forget all his
half-formed resolutions. His work, his life, the possible outcome, the
world itself--were lost in the overpowering rush of the passion-flood
that swept his being.
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