Beresford led his trembling young companion out to the carriage that
waited impatiently at the gates, the horses fretting and the driver
swearing under his breath.
In fact, the young man had been charged a heavy sum for this service,
the driver sharing to the full the common terror of Suicide Place.
So it was with a sigh of relief that he received from Floy the
directions where to drive, after which she was handed into the carriage
by her escort.
“With your permission I will see you safely home,” he said,
courteously, springing in after her and closing the door.
They had something more than three miles to drive to Bird’s Nest
Cottage, and each heart thrilled with the consciousness of happy
moments to be spent together.
As he seated himself by her side, Floy thought of her exquisite dream
of the rose garden, where she had walked by his side, with his arm
about her waist and his low voice whispering love into her willing and
enraptured ears.
Her heart began to throb wildly, the blood leaped warmly through
her veins, she felt her cheeks flush and her eyelids quiver in the
semi-darkness. She was so overcome with sweet and painful emotion that
she could not utter a word, and Beresford, thrilling with the same
sweet pain, also remained silent.
He was so madly in love with the little blue-eyed beauty by his side
that it was with difficulty he restrained himself from clasping the
dainty form in his arms and whispering to her all that was in his
heart--the admiration, the tenderness, the passion, the yearning to woo
and win her for his worshiped bride.
But the faint remnant of reason remaining to him whispered, warningly:
“Wait till she knows you better. Such impetuous violence would frighten
and disgust the little darling!”
So each remained silent for a brief time, thrilled and dominated by the
presence of the other, then Floy, coming back to herself by a great
effort of will, murmured, softly:
“You said you came to take me home. Did any one send you?”
“No; I came of my own free will,” he returned, gently.
“Why--why, that was strange!” she faltered, wonderingly.
“Do you think so?” he asked; and there was a tender meaning in his
voice that made her cheeks burn warmly, and her heart throb again so
wildly that she could not speak. She, who had always been so saucy and
ready-witted, flouting with scorn the flatteries of her admirers, could
not think of any retort, could not unclose her lips for a coquettish
reply.
Finding that she did not reply, her handsome companion continued:
“I wonder if you would be offended if I should tell you about a strange
dream that warned me to come to your assistance!”
Floy started and thrilled, remembering her own beautiful dream, and she
found courage to return:
“I--I thought you were too much offended with me to--to dream of me!
Mr. Maury said you were so angry with me, you would not come back to
the picnic.”
“That was not true. I was a little vexed with you, I own, but I was
going back with Otho; only just as we stepped outside the gate,
a telegram was handed me that necessitated my return to New York
to-morrow, and my sailing for Europe the next day. The matter so
worried me that I told Otho to go back without me, as I must remain to
see to my packing. I did not bring my valet here with me, and he went
alone and made capital of my absence to tell you that falsehood, the
villain!”
“Oh, how I hate the false, cowardly wretch, and how glad I am that you
came when you did. I believe I should have died with disgust if he had
succeeded in kissing me!” cried Floy.
Beresford wondered if she would be willing to kiss him; but he did not
dare to offer the caress that was burning on his lips. His strong, true
love made him timid and respectful.
He said, soothingly:
“I do not think he will ever dare to annoy you again.”
“I should think not, or I will tell Uncle John, and he will punish
him,” Floy replied; then added, timidly: “But the dream that sent you
to me?--I am quite curious over it.”
“I should like you to hear it, only--promise me you will not be angry,”
tenderly.
“Of course not. One can not stop dreams. And this one must have been a
good one.”
“It was charming!” he cried, vivaciously.
“Then tell me all about it.” And it seemed to him that all
unconsciously to herself she nestled confidingly closer to his side.
He also leaned nearer, so that their heads were very, very close, so
close that his warm breath ruffled the strands of her curly hair and
swept her cheek, as he began:
“In the first place, I was seriously annoyed yesterday when I heard you
answer Miss Maury’s challenge, by declaring that you would spend the
night alone in the haunted house--I believe it is said to be haunted,
is it not? Although I was almost a stranger to you, and you seemed
to avoid me somehow, I determined to seek an opportunity to dissuade
you from your purpose, and to tell you frankly how imprudent such an
adventure would be. I even determined that if you refused to listen to
me I would seek out your parents and acquaint them with your girlish
folly.”
“But I have no parents--only adopted ones, you know.”
“Yes; I heard the story of your life to-day from a young man who seemed
to admire you very much,” returned Beresford; adding: “But of course
that made no difference, as your adopted parents would exercise the
same authority over you as your own.”
Floy remained demurely silent, smiling to herself at the thought of how
those dear adopted parents always humored her every madcap whim.
“Said Brier-Rose’s mother to the naughty Brier-Rose:
‘Whatever will become of you the Lord Almighty knows!
You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom,
You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom!’
“And oft the maiden cried when Brier-Rose went by:
‘You can not knit a stocking, you can not make a pie!’
But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she cocked a curly head,
‘But I can sing a pretty song,’ full merrily she said.”
“But,” continued the speaker, “after that came your sensational plunge
into the water, frightening every one out of their wits. When the funny
farce of saving you was over, and I went back for dry clothes, that
telegram drove everything else out of my mind for awhile--even _you_,”
tenderly.
Floy did not answer a word; she listened attentively, thinking how
sweet and musical his voice sounded, and how sorry she was that this
charming drive would soon be over. She could have gone on, and on, and
on with him forever.
But the cross driver, not sharing her predilections, swore at his
horses and whipped them up impatiently, while Beresford added:
“The telegram drove everything else out of my mind until I retired,
when I fell asleep and dreamed of you.”