"Or a ghost," she amended. "Weren't you coming in?"
"No," he said. "I hadn't thought of it. Do you want--shall I come in?"
"Yes, please do. I--I've been waiting for you."
"I'm sorry! I hoped you'd have gone to bed. But I might have known you
wouldn't."
As she retreated from the window, he followed her, as if reluctantly,
into the room.
"Shall I draw the curtains?" he asked. There was weariness in his voice,
as in his face. Annesley's heart went out to her beloved sinner with even
more tenderness than before.
"No, let's talk in the moonlight," she answered. "Oh, Knight, I _am_ glad
you've come! I began to think you never would!"
"Did you? That's not strange, for I was saying to myself that same
thing."
"What same thing? I don't understand."
"That I--well, that I never ought to come to you again."
She sank down on a low sofa near the window, and looked up to him as he
stood tall and straight, seeming to tower over her like one of the pine
trees out there under the moon.
"Oh, Knight!" she faltered. "It's not--so bad as that!"
"Isn't it?" he caught her up sharply, eagerly.
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