For a moment John hesitated. Then a kind smile softened his features.
"I can't quite promise that, Cicely,--but I'll do my best!" And taking her hand he patted it gently, as she furtively dashed one or two tear-drops from her lashes--"Come, come, you mustn't cry! Run away and sing like the little nightingale you are--don't fret---"
"But you'll go to Maryllia, won't you?" she urged, anxiously.
"Yes. I'll go!"
She lifted her dark eyes, and he saw how true and full of soul they were, despite their witch-like wildness and passion. Just then a stormy passage of music, played on the piano, and tumbling out, as it seemed, on the air through the open windows of the Manor drawing- room, reminded her that she was being waited for by her impetuous and impatient maestro.
"That's the signal for me!" she said--"I must run! But oh do, do make it up with Maryllia and be friends!"
She rushed away. He waited till she had disappeared, then turning back through the courtyard, slowly re-entered the house.