“Hiding your face, and trembling...?” He looked steadily at her.

“I will go away in a moment,” he said gently, as if asking forgiveness.  “I never thought you would feel it so.”

“No, no!” said the girl anxiously.  “It wasn’t that....”

“Get into bed again and cover yourself up, or you’ll be cold.  And I’ll sit beside you a little, just while it’s dark, and then go again.”

Shy and confused, she sprang into bed and drew the clothes over her.

He looked at her a moment.  Then pulling up a chair beside the bed, he sat down, resting one elbow on the pillow.

“Pansy, why do you hide your eyes?  Are you afraid?  Is it because I am here?  Give me your hand.  Who was it that was to press your hand?  Do you remember?

“Didn’t you know I was coming?  Hasn’t the cuckoo been saying it all the spring?  Didn’t the daisies tell you he was to come this summer?  And now, now that I am here, you look at me as if I were a stranger.  Is it because it has come true so suddenly?”

She pressed his hand.  “Oh, you are not like the others.”

“And how should I be?  You did not care for them.  The one you have been waiting for—­was he to be like them?  Answer, dark-eyed Pansy-flower.”

She clasped his wrist with both her hands, and drew herself closer to him.

“And I have been waiting,” he whispered tenderly, “for whom, do you think?  For one of the others?  I have seen more than I can count—­but the moment I saw you, I knew who it was you were waiting for, and who it was I sought.”

The girl moved uneasily.  There was a sound of footsteps outside, and shadows moved behind the curtains of the window.

“Oh!” she whispered, shrinking in fear.

“Is that some of them?” asked the young man calmly.

“Yes.  Oh, hide yourself, hide somewhere—­they light matches outside sometimes, and look in.”

“I’ll not move a step for any of them,” he said resolutely, folding his arms.  “Don’t be afraid, little one, there’s nothing to fear.”

A dark shadow climbed up outside.  There was a scraping sound, and a light shone into the room for a moment.

“There he is—­sitting there as if he was master of the house!” The shadow sprang down again.

A low murmur was heard outside, and footsteps receding.

A moment later, the whispering voices were heard again, and steps approaching.  Then something heavy was flung against the door with a crash.

“There!  Sleep well, my dears!” cried a scornful voice outside.  A chorus of laughter followed, the footsteps died away, and all was still.

The young man rose to his feet.  “The brutes!” he muttered, trembling with anger.  He sprang to the door, lifted the latch, and threw his weight against it.  The door did not move.  His blood boiled, and again he flung himself against the door.  It creaked under the shock, but the bar outside held fast.