Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-09-02
slipped out by the gate again, with fast
beating heart and rode away

| slipped out by the gate again, with fast
| beating heart, and rode away.
| He was away now, she knew. Nobody
would come to the deserted cottage in his
| absence. If he still cared for her, he would
see the withered blossoms on his return.
! and then surely, surely he would take heart
| and seek her out, and speak to her again.
So she told herself, and she went to bed
| that night with an anxious heart indeed,
| but with more hope, more cheerfulness than
| she had felt for long time.
But the days went by; she knew that
Nigel must have come back. and yet she
| heard no sign of him, and her hopes began
| to die away. John Mercer became more
pressing in his demands for an answer, and
| her family grew cold and unkind when she
persisted in making delays.
| 1t was impossible for her any longer to
| doubt that Nigel had given her up, that
| in recovering his balance he had also re-
| covered his freedom of heart, and that he
| was hers no more. The discovery cost her
! hours and days of agony. Never before
| had she guessed how dear he was to her.
| never before had she so hungered for a
| sight of the tender dark eyes, a word in
| that deep, low voice he always used to her.
| And then at last there came news OF him
news which made her heart leap up He
| had met with an accident one stormy night
at sea. and was lying at Fourways i'll with
/ a broken leg.
| When Piety learned this she uttered
i neither comment nor cry, but she presently
| slipped out of the parlor, where couple
! of neighbors were retailing the news to her
| mother and aunt, and, snatching up her hat
| and cape, crept softly out of the house by
the front and less used way and flew like
| the wind in the direction of Fourways.
1t was 6 o'clock, and the lights were
| showing through the drawn blinds of the
| front room.
When she knocked at the door, softly,
| timidly, she heard Nigels voice from with
| in. He said no word, but there burst from
| his lips a low cry, which she knew for a
| cry of welcome.
| But the door was opened by Mamie Phil
| pott, who started back and uttered an ex-
clamation in her turn when she saw who
| the visitor was. Then she turned with a
| laugh and a swing of the skirts toward a
young man-one Of Nigers mates-who was
standing behind her.
| And Piety, who scarcely saw or heard her,
| caught sight Of bed which had been made
up in the corner by the fire, and of Nigel
| lying in It,
It's all up-the games up, as far as I'm
concerned" cried Nan, flippantly II came
here to offer to nurse him, but of course 1
| must take back seat now you've turned
up" And she swung round again. defiant
| ly, toward Piety. 1T was always the way,
Ell? And l may as well confess 1t was [
| took down your flowers from the door. So
here's my best respects to you both, and
hoping I've made amends. Good evening
| to you. Miss Rede.' and she dropped a
courtesy. And ta-tA, Nigel!'
She had hounced away; to the door Nigel
who had struggled to raise himself On his
elbow. spoke courteously to her, but he had
eyes on Piety, who still stood near the door
I'm very much obliged to you, Man, for
your good wishes. Goodbye"
He held out his hand but she did not
choose to see 1t. With another Haunting
bow and another laugh she swept past the
newcomer and went out, banging the door
behind her.
Nigel was craning his neck to see Piety
behind the famn which stood on he oh
between them.
"Piety. Piety. come here. I knew as
you'd come! Was downright sure of it,"
AS Piety. with the tears streaming down
her face. crept softly up and knelt down
by the bedside. Nigel's mate. with .