"We might as well go towards the house, if that is all," added she,
gathering in her hand some skeins of yarn that had been spread out to
whiten.
Swan caught the yarn and threw it away with an impatient jerk. Then he
took both of Dorcas's hands in his, holding them with a fierce grasp
that made her almost scream.
"You know I can't go near the house."
"Yes, I know," said Dorcas, half frightened at his manner. "When did
you get back from Boston?"
"Saturday night. And I am going again to-morrow. And then--Dorcas--I
shall stay."
"Stay?"
"Stay,--till you tell me to come back, maybe!"
"Why, where are you going, Swan?"
"To China, Dorcas."
"I want to know!" exclaimed she.
"Just it,--and no two ways about it. Sold out to Sawtell. Now you have
it, Dorcas!"
This curt and abrupt dialogue needed no more words. The rest was made
out fully by the bright color on each face, the sparkling interest
on the bent brow of Dorcas, and the deep, mellow voice, full of
tenderness and hope, mixed with stern decision, on the part of Swan
Day.
No wonder Dorcas's eyes had a glamour over them as she listened and
looked. What did she see? A slight, erect figure, with Napoleonic
features, animated with admiration and sensibility; emotion glorifying
the rich, deep eyes, and making them look in the twilight like stars;
and over all, the indefinable ease that comes from knowledge of the
world, however small that world may be.
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