With a satisfied smile, Harry Cresswell had seen the Northern girl disappear toward the swamp; for it is significant when maidens run from lovers. But maidens should also come back, and when, after the lapse of many minutes, Mary did not reappear, he followed her footsteps to the swamp.
He frowned as he noted the footprints pointing to Elspeth‚Äôs‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhat did Mary Taylor want there? A fear started within him, and something else. He was suddenly aware that he wanted this woman, intensely; at the moment he would have turned Heaven and earth to get her. He strode forward and the wood rose darkly green above him. A long, low, distant moan seemed to sound upon the breeze, and after it came Mary Taylor.
He met her with tender solicitude, and she was glad to feel his arm beneath hers.
‚ÄúI‚Äôve been searching for you,‚Äù he said after a silence. ‚ÄúYou should not wander here alone‚ÅÝ‚Äîit is dangerous.‚Äù
“Why, dangerous?” she asked.
‚ÄúWandering Negroes, and even wild beasts, in the forest depths‚ÅÝ‚Äîand malaria‚ÅÝ‚Äîsee, you tremble now.‚Äù
“But not from malaria,” she slowly returned.
He caught an unfamiliar note in his voice, and a wild desire to justify himself before this woman clamored in his heart.
With it, too, came a cooler calculating intuition that frankness alone would win her now. At all hazards he must win, and he cast the die.
‚ÄúMiss Taylor,‚Äù he said, ‚ÄúI want to talk to you‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI have wanted to for‚ÅÝ‚Äîa year.‚Äù He glanced at her: she was white and silent, but she did not tremble. He went on: