Suddenly, a bunch of wild roses in her girdle, Beatrice emerged from the
gathering gloom and stood before him face to face.
CHAPTER XXI
THE THIRD APPEAL
Face to face they stood, while at the vision of her sweetness his heart
grew still. Face to face, and the faint light fell upon her tender
loveliness and died in her deep eyes, and the faint breeze fragrant with
the breath of pines gently stirred her hair. Oh, it was worth living to
see her thus!
"I beg your pardon," she said in a puzzled tone, stepping forward to
pass the gate.
"_Beatrice!_"
She gave a little cry, and clutched the railing, else she would have
fallen. One moment she stayed so, looking up towards his face that was
hid in the deepening shadow--looking with wild eyes of hope and fear and
love.
"Is it you," she said at length, "or another dream?"
"It is I, Beatrice!" he answered, amazed.
She recovered herself with an effort.
"Then why did you frighten me so?" she asked. "It was unkind--oh, I did
not mean to say anything cross. What did I say? I forget. I am so glad
that you have come!" and she put her hand to her forehead and looked at
him again as one might gaze at a ghost from the grave.
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