I put him to bed. There is
time enough to start to California when he awakens. Edith, what are you
planning to do next with that boy of mine?"
"Will you tell him I want to see him before he goes?"
"Yes, but I won't wake him."
"I don't want you to. Just tell him in the morning."
"Very well."
"You will be sure?"
"Sure!"
Hart was not gone. Edith fell asleep. She arose at noon the next day,
took a cold bath, ate her breakfast, dressed carefully, and leaving word
that she had gone to the forest, she walked slowly across the leaves. It
was cool and quiet there, so she sat where she could see him coming, and
waited. She was thinking deep and fast.
Henderson came swiftly down the path. A long sleep, food, and Edith's
message had done him good. He had dressed in new light flannels that
were becoming. Edith arose and went to meet him.
"Let us walk in the forest," she said.
They passed the old Catholic graveyard, and entered the deepest wood of
the Island, where all shadows were green, all voices of humanity ceased,
and there was no sound save the whispering of the trees, a few bird
notes and squirrel rustle. There Edith seated herself on a mossy old
log, and Henderson studied her. He could detect a change. She was still
pale and her eyes tired, but the dull, strained look was gone. He wanted
to hope, but he did not dare. Any other man would have forced her to
speak. The mighty tenderness in Henderson's heart shielded her in every
way.
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