not afraid," she repeated,
in a little, grieved, and anxious way; "please leave me at the turn
of the road, I am truly not afraid."

"No, it is too dark for you to go alone," said Jerome, hoarsely,
again. It came to him that he should offer her his arm, but he dared
not trust his voice for that. He reached down, caught her hand, and
thrust it through his arm, thinking, with a thrill of terror as he
did so, that she would draw it away, but she did not.

She leaned so slightly on his arm that it seemed more the inclination
of spirit than matter, but still she accepted his support and walked
along easily at his side. So far from her resenting his summary
taking of her hand, she was grateful, with the humble gratitude of
the primeval woman for the kindness of a master whom she has made
wroth.

Lucina had attributed Jerome's stiffness at sight of her, and his
delay in accompanying her home, to her unkind treatment of him. Now
he showed signs of forgiveness, her courage returned. When they had
passed the turn of the road, and were on the main street, she spoke
quite sweetly and calmly.

"There is something I have been wanting to say to you," said she. "I
tried to say it the other night when I was riding and met you, but I
did not succeed very well. What I wanted to say was--I fear that when
you suggested coming to see me, the Sunday night after my party, I
did not seem cordial enough, and make you understand that I should be
very happy to see you, and that was why you did not come."

"O--h!" said Jerome, with a long-drawn breath of wonder and despair.
He had been thinking that he had offended her beyond forgiveness and
of his own choice, and she, with her sweet humility, was twice suing
him for pardon.

"I am very sorry," Lucina said, softly.

"That was not the reason why I did not," Jerome gasped.

"Then you were not hurt?"

"No; I--thought you spoke as if you would like to have me come--"

"Perhaps you were ill," Lucina said, hesitatingly.

"No, I was not. I did not--"

"Oh, it was not because you did not want to come!" Lucina cried out,
quickly, and yet with exceeding gentleness and sad wonder, that he
should force such a suspicion upon her.

"No, it was not. I--wanted to come more than--I wanted to come,
but--I did not think it--best." Jerome said the last so defiantly
that poor Lucina started.

"But it was because of nothing I had said, and it was not because you
did not want to?" she said, piteously.