“Hindeed Hi will,” he answered, as they walked up the path.
At the house they found that all had retired. Myrtle slipped a little book into Wilfred’s hand. “Read ‘The Song of the Shirt,’ and ‘The Bridge of Sighs’ and—perhaps—‘Eugene Aram.’ Good night.”
“Good night,” he said, and disappeared in the darkness.
Myrtle sat down in the little parlour of the farmhouse. All was stillness. The hard labour of agricultural life had driven the boys and Susy early to their rooms. But their beautiful cousin had no thought of sleep. As she walked up the pasture path a gust of memory swept over her; the memory of a night, dark, with slight stirring breezes that whispered eerily among the willows; the memory of a strong hand that had helped her to her place on the pony, and had lain on his mane as they walked slowly homeward. Burton’s disappearance had been complete; since the First of July celebration he appeared to have dropped out of existence as absolutely as if the earth had swallowed him. Her strong confidence in his innocence had battled bravely against overwhelming evidence, but in the unequal conflict she knew it to be breaking down. Since the night of their terrible experiences in the thunderstorm Gardiner had not attempted to force his acquaintance with her, but while she suffered from the injured ankle he telephoned a courteous inquiry daily, and since had found occasion to make a couple of casual calls. Miss Vane had received him kindly; he had been Burton’s friend; he was, indeed, her friend. Burton’s disappearance placed Gardiner in the _rôle_ of a benefactor; he would forfeit the bail given for the young man’s liberty, and the fact that he seemed prepared to do so without a murmur of protest gave him a strong claim upon Myrtle’s regard. But she could not lose sight of the fact that there was a purpose in all Gardiner’s conduct; that he sought her for his wife, and that he was only waiting until there seemed no possibility of Burton’s return before he pleaded his suit once more with her.
And if Burton did not return—what? A hundred times she had thrown this thought from her mind, but it intruded again more arrogantly than ever. A hundred times she had said, “He will return.” But time was wearing on, and Burton’s complete disappearance left little question as to his purpose. Even while she told herself he would return the cold sweat of doubt and uncertainty gathered on her brow. Early in the history of his trouble she had written to her brother in the East, and had received an answer of sound advice and practical encouragement; but Harry had soon after sailed for Europe, and neither advice nor consolation was to be had from him at present.