"Yes, yes, of course," hurriedly put in Teola, "pardon me--I forgot.... You shall have my cup.... Here, Tessibel! I may call you that, mayn't I? Please drink some of mine."
Teola held the cup invitingly to the shivering lips, and Tessibel swallowed it down in one gulp.
"I air goin' now," she said desperately, wiping away coffee drops that lingered upon her face, "and ye ain't goin' to forget?"
This last was to Frederick, and he shook his head emphatically. He would not forget again; he would make the girl's father a special medium to establish a line of faith between the God he professed to love and himself--the quality of which should be no less than the one that Tessibel had cultivated during her weary weeks of waiting.
No thought entered anyone's mind of asking the girl if she were afraid of the dark night--she seemed so much a part of the darkness, of the falling snow and thrashing trees, that she was allowed to depart without a question. As he stood on the Rectory steps, the clicking of the big boots came to Frederick long after the slender form had disappeared from sight.
After that the party broke up, for the merriment had died in Tessibel's grief. An impression had been made upon the thoughtless boys and girls, and a shadow rested on each face as they bade "good-night" to their young hostess.
"She's the prettiest girl I ever saw," confided Teola to Frederick afterward; "her eyes are the color of a marigold."
In her heart Teola was glad that she had gone to the squatter in sympathy, for, upon leaving, Dan Jordan had whispered words that had burned deep into her soul: "You are an angel, Teola dear, and I--love--you."
For one instant the tall student had bent his head, laying his lips upon hers--and had gone without another word.