yet it held her like a spell.

All hands were lifted now, making an arch, through which Evesham,
holding Nancy by the hands, raced stooping and laughing. As they
emerged at the door, he threw up his head to shake a brown lock back.
He looked flushed, and boyishly gay, and his hazel eye searched the
darkness with that subtle ray of triumph in it which had made Dorothy
afraid. She drew back behind the tree and pressed her hot cheek to the
cool, rough bark. She longed for the stillness of the starlit meadow,
and the dim lane, with its faint perfumes and whispering leaves.

But now suddenly the music stopped, and the dance broke up in a tumult
of voices. Dorothy stole backward in the shadow of the tree-trunk, till
it joined the darkness of the meadow, and then fled,--stumbling along
with blinded eyes, and the music still vibrating in her ears. There
came a quick rush of footsteps behind her, swishing through the long
grass. She did not look back, but quickened her pace, struggling to
reach the gate. Evesham was there before her. He had swung the gate to
and was leaning with his back against it, laughing and panting.

"I've caught you, Dorothy, you little deceiver! You'll not get rid of
me to-night with any of your tricks. I'm going to take you home to your
mother, and tell her you were peeping at the dancing."

"Mother knows I am here," said Dorothy. "I asked her!" Her knees were
trembling, and her heart almost choked her with its throbbing.

"I'm so glad you don't dance, Dorothy. This is much nicer than the
barn; and the katydids are better fiddlers than old Darby and his son.
I'll open the gate if you will put your hand in mine, so I can be sure
of you--you little runaway!"

"I will stay here all night, first!" said Dorothy, in a low quivering
voice.

"As you choose. I shall be happy as long as you are here."

Dead silence, while the katydids seemed to keep time to their
heart-beats; the fiddles began tuning for another reel, and the horses
tethered near stretched out their necks with low inquiring whinneys.

"Dorothy," said Evesham, softly, leaning toward her and trying to see
her face in the darkness, "are you angry with me? Don't you think you
deserve a little punishment for the trick you played me at the
mill-head?"

"It was thy fault for wetting me!" Dorothy was too excited and angry to
cry, but she was as miserable as she had ever been in her life before.
"I didn't _want_ thee to stay. People who force t