f. The only chance for her was to get near enough to him.
Near him no shadow lived. The thing was to get near enough. She rushed
direct from shadow into light. She came out into the sun, into the
garden with its blaze of wintry summer, its whispering life and the free
air over it. The man standing in the middle of it, for all his pot hat
and Gothic stick, was none the less its demigod waiting for her,
laughing. He might well laugh that she who had written that unflinching
letter should come thus flying at his call; but there was more than
laughter, there was more than mischief in him. The high tide of his
spirits was only the sparkle of his excitement. It was evident that he
was there with something of mighty importance to say.

Was it that her letter had finally touched him? Had he come at last to
transcend her idea with some even greater purpose? She seemed to see the
power, the will for that and the kindness--she could not call it by
another word--but though she was beseeching him with all her silent
attitude to tell her instantly what the great thing was, he kept it
back a moment, looking at her whimsically, indulgently, even tenderly.

"I have come for you," he said.

"Oh, for me!" she murmured. Surely he couldn't mean that! He was simply
putting her off with that.

"I mean it, I mean it," he assured her. "This doesn't make it any less
real, my getting at you through a garden. Better," he added, "and sweet
of you to make the duller way impossible."

She took a step back. It had not been play to her; but he would have it
nothing else. He, too, stepped back and away from her.

"Come," he said, and behind him she saw the lower garden gate that
opened on the grassy pitch of the hill, swinging idle and open. The
sight of him about to vanish lured her on, and as he continued to walk
backward she advanced, following.

"Oh, where?" she pleaded.

"With me!" Such a guaranty of good faith he made it!

She tried to summon her reluctance.

"But why?"

"We'll talk about it as we go along." His hand was on the gate. "We
can't stop here, you know. She'll be watching us from the window."

Flora glanced behind her. The windows were all discreetly draped--most
likely ambush--but that he should apprehend Clara's eyes behind them!
Ah, then, he did know what he was about! He saw Clara as she did. She
would almost have been ready to trust him on the strength of that alone.
Still she hung back.

"But my things!" she protes