"
He knew that she had been to that dark little street with her aunts
to see Miss Pyncheon.
The night, when it came, was misty, and when he reached the place
she was at once in his arms. She had been there more than five
minutes, she had thought that he was not coming. Martha had nearly
caught her . . .
He kissed her hair and her eyes and her mouth, holding her to him,
forgetting everything but her. She stayed, quiet, clinging to him as
though she would never let him go, then she drew away.
"Now we must walk about or some one will see us," she said.
"We've only got five minutes. Martin, what I want to know is, are
you happy?"
"Yes," he said.
They walked like ghosts, in the misty street.
"Well, then I am," she said. "Only your letters didn't sound very
happy."
"Can you hold on till after the New Year?" They were walking hand in
hand, her fingers curled in his palm.
"Yes," she said. "If you're happy."
"There are troubles of course," he said. "But I don't care for Amy
and the rest. It's only father that matters. I can't discover how
much he knows. If I knew that I'd be much happier.
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