CHAPTER IX. “OH! THOSE HAPPY MOMENTS SPENT TOGETHER!

Beresford led his trembling young companion out to the carriage that waited impatiently at the gates, the horses fretting and the driver swearing under his breath.

In fact, the young man had been charged a heavy sum for this service, the driver sharing to the full the common terror of Suicide Place.

So it was with a sigh of relief that he received from Floy the directions where to drive, after which she was handed into the carriage by her escort.

“With your permission I will see you safely home,” he said, courteously, springing in after her and closing the door.

They had something more than three miles to drive to Bird’s Nest Cottage, and each heart thrilled with the consciousness of happy moments to be spent together.

As he seated himself by her side, Floy thought of her exquisite dream of the rose garden, where she had walked by his side, with his arm about her waist and his low voice whispering love into her willing and enraptured ears.

Her heart began to throb wildly, the blood leaped warmly through her veins, she felt her cheeks flush and her eyelids quiver in the semi-darkness. She was so overcome with sweet and painful emotion that she could not utter a word, and Beresford, thrilling with the same sweet pain, also remained silent.

He was so madly in love with the little blue-eyed beauty by his side that it was with difficulty he restrained himself from clasping the dainty form in his arms and whispering to her all that was in his heart--the admiration, the tenderness, the passion, the yearning to woo and win her for his worshiped bride.

But the faint remnant of reason remaining to him whispered, warningly:

“Wait till she knows you better. Such impetuous violence would frighten and disgust the little darling!”

So each remained silent for a brief time, thrilled and dominated by the presence of the other, then Floy, coming back to herself by a great effort of will, murmured, softly:

“You said you came to take me home. Did any one send you?”

“No; I came of my own free will,” he returned, gently.

“Why--why, that was strange!” she faltered, wonderingly.

“Do you think so?” he asked; and there was a tender meaning in his voice that made her cheeks burn warmly, and her heart throb again so wildly that she could not speak. She, who had always been so saucy and ready-witted, flouting with scorn the flatteries of her admirers, could not think of any retort, could not unclose her lips for a coquettish reply.

Finding that she did not reply, her handsome companion continued:

“I wonder if you would be offended if I should tell you about a strange dream that warned me to come to your assistance!”

Floy started and thrilled, remembering her own beautiful dream, and she found courage to return:

“I--I thought you were too much offended with me to--to dream of me! Mr. Maury said you were so angry with me, you would not come back to the picnic.”

“That was not true. I was a little vexed with you, I own, but I was going back with Otho; only just as we stepped outside the gate, a telegram was handed me that necessitated my return to New York to-morrow, and my sailing for Europe the next day. The matter so worried me that I told Otho to go back without me, as I must remain to see to my packing. I did not bring my valet here with me, and he went alone and made capital of my absence to tell you that falsehood, the villain!”

“Oh, how I hate the false, cowardly wretch, and how glad I am that you came when you did. I believe I should have died with disgust if he had succeeded in kissing me!” cried Floy.

Beresford wondered if she would be willing to kiss him; but he did not dare to offer the caress that was burning on his lips. His strong, true love made him timid and respectful.

He said, soothingly:

“I do not think he will ever dare to annoy you again.”

“I should think not, or I will tell Uncle John, and he will punish him,” Floy replied; then added, timidly: “But the dream that sent you to me?--I am quite curious over it.”

“I should like you to hear it, only--promise me you will not be angry,” tenderly.

“Of course not. One can not stop dreams. And this one must have been a good one.”

“It was charming!” he cried, vivaciously.

“Then tell me all about it.” And it seemed to him that all unconsciously to herself she nestled confidingly closer to his side.

He also leaned nearer, so that their heads were very, very close, so close that his warm breath ruffled the strands of her curly hair and swept her cheek, as he began:

“In the first place, I was seriously annoyed yesterday when I heard you answer Miss Maury’s challenge, by declaring that you would spend the night alone in the haunted house--I believe it is said to be haunted, is it not? Although I was almost a stranger to you, and you seemed to avoid me somehow, I determined to seek an opportunity to dissuade you from your purpose, and to tell you frankly how imprudent such an adventure would be. I even determined that if you refused to listen to me I would seek out your parents and acquaint them with your girlish folly.”

“But I have no parents--only adopted ones, you know.”

“Yes; I heard the story of your life to-day from a young man who seemed to admire you very much,” returned Beresford; adding: “But of course that made no difference, as your adopted parents would exercise the same authority over you as your own.”

Floy remained demurely silent, smiling to herself at the thought of how those dear adopted parents always humored her every madcap whim.

“Said Brier-Rose’s mother to the naughty Brier-Rose: ‘Whatever will become of you the Lord Almighty knows! You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom, You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom!’

“And oft the maiden cried when Brier-Rose went by: ‘You can not knit a stocking, you can not make a pie!’ But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she cocked a curly head, ‘But I can sing a pretty song,’ full merrily she said.”

“But,” continued the speaker, “after that came your sensational plunge into the water, frightening every one out of their wits. When the funny farce of saving you was over, and I went back for dry clothes, that telegram drove everything else out of my mind for awhile--even _you_,” tenderly.

Floy did not answer a word; she listened attentively, thinking how sweet and musical his voice sounded, and how sorry she was that this charming drive would soon be over. She could have gone on, and on, and on with him forever.

But the cross driver, not sharing her predilections, swore at his horses and whipped them up impatiently, while Beresford added:

“The telegram drove everything else out of my mind until I retired, when I fell asleep and dreamed of you.”