Arrived at Hazelhurst, Hazel acquainted her mother with the circumstances of the accident. After dressing the slight hurt with the aid of her daughter, Helen insisted upon rest and refreshment before Paul should be allowed to depart for home, despite the shortness of the distance between the two houses.
So that dark was falling when he bade his kind hostess farewell, and Hazel accompanied him to the door.
Emboldened by the dimness of the fading light, she crept close up to him, bending her head that he should not study her face.
"You—you knew what I thought?" she asked, trembling a little.
"Yes, poor child," he answered tenderly, stroking the soft hair.
She guessed by his half-soothing, half-bantering tone, that he divined her thoughts. Creeping yet closer, she placed her two hands upon his breast. His own closed over them.
"You—you heard?" she whispered, her eyes downcast.
"Hazel," he said earnestly, "I heard you say you loved me, and I heard you call my name. But it was not till you fainted that I was able to rouse myself."
He might have added he could yet feel the two timid kisses that had fallen upon his cheek, but he was merciful.
A silence fell between them. Hazel was wrestling with her shyness. She must know.
In desperation she raised her head and looked quickly into his face. Her lips parted, but it was a quick blush that asked the question.
"And that too, little love," he murmured.