He did not wait to hear more.  He seized her in his arms and kissed her.

“Then you do care!” he cried joyfully.  “You will marry me?”

For an instant she lay quiet in his embrace, receiving, if not responding to his caresses.  Then she gently but firmly freed herself.  He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“Grace,” he urged, “don’t—­don’t hesitate any longer.  You were meant to be my wife.  We were brought together for just that.  I know it.  Come.”

She was crying softly.

“Won’t you?” he begged.

“I don’t know,” she sobbed.  “Oh, I don’t know!  I must think—­I must!  Wait, please wait, John.  Perhaps by to-morrow I can answer.  I’ll try—­I’ll try.  Don’t ask me again, now.  Let me think.  Oh, do!”

Doubtless he would have asked her again.  He looked as if he meant to.  But just then, drifting through the twilight and the mist, came the sound of a bell, the bell of the Regular church, ringing for the Sunday evening meeting.  They both heard it.

“Oh!” exclaimed Grace, “that is your bell.  You will be late.  You must go, and so must I. Good night.”

She started down the path.  He hesitated, then ran after her.

“To-morrow?” he questioned eagerly.  “Tomorrow, then, you’ll say that you will?”

“Oh, perhaps, perhaps!  I mustn’t promise.  Good night.”

It was after seven when Grace reached the old tavern.  The housekeeper, Mrs. Poundberry, was anxiously awaiting her.  She wore her bonnet and Sunday gown and was evidently ready to go out.

“Land sakes alive!” she sputtered.  “Where in the name of goodness have you been to?  I was gettin’ scairt.  Didn’t know but you’d run off and got married, or sunthin’ dreadful.”

Grace was thankful that the cloudy twilight made it impossible to see her face distinctly.  The housekeeper rattled on without waiting for an answer.

“Supper’s on the table and the kittle’s abilin’.  You better eat in a hurry, ‘cause it’s meetin’ time now.  Your uncle, he started ten minutes ago.  I’m agoin’ right along, too, but I ain’t goin’ to meetin’; I’m agoin’ up to Betsy E.’s to stay all night.  She’s got a spine in her back, as the feller said, and ain’t feelin’ good, so I told her I’d come and stay a little spell.  S’pose you can get along to-morrow without me?”

“Betsy E.” was Mrs. Poundberry’s second cousin, an elderly spinster living alone in a little house near the salt works.  Grace assured her questioner that she could attend to the house and the meals during the following day, longer if the troublesome “spine” needed company.  Mrs. Poundberry sighed, groaned, and shook her head.

“I shan’t stay no longer,” she affirmed; “not if Betsy’s all over spines, like one of them Mexican cactus plants.  No, marm, my place is right here and I know it.  Your Uncle Eben’s mighty feeble and peaked lately.  He ain’t long for this world, I’m afraid.  You’d ought to be awful good to him, Gracie.”