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"Can't. He might hear me." "How're we goin' to get back 'cross the crick?" whined the vanquished LaRose. They grasped hands..

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Billy was feeling frantically in his pockets. "My rabbit foot charm," he groaned. "I fell over a log an' it must'a slipped out'a my pocket." Lucy was somewhat puzzled by Mr Lawrence. His behaviour was cool, gentleman-like, distant, cautious, entirely sober, and for the most part he expressed himself with a high degree of intelligence. She could not but remember that in the morning when, to be sure, he might be said to have been "flown with wine and insolence," he had, with a passion which assuredly borrowed nothing of heat from liquor, plucked a daisy and bade her put it to her sweet lips and return it to him, and he had then concealed the little[Pg 72] flower in his pocket as the only sacred treasure he possessed. This evening his bearing was on the whole as formal and collected as though she was but an acquaintance in whose company he could sit without being overcome by her charms. The passion of the morning was genuine and sincere, drink or no drink; the behaviour this evening was calculated and extraordinary. Perhaps in the delicate candlelight she might not catch every expression of eye, every movement of mouth, every shade of change in the expression of the whole face, so that she would justly imagine she had missed through defective illumination the impassioned look, the swift pencilling by rapture of the lineaments which her maiden's intuition gave her eloquently and convincingly to know must be the secret homage of his heart, let him mask his handsome and worn face as he would. "Willium, are you lyin' to me? If you are it's goin' to be the costliest lie you ever told." "Oh, my dear, dear Lucy," he cried, "little can you conceive how the man who carried[Pg 362] you off has made your aunt and me, and his father, suffer!".