CHAPTER V.
ELWOOD'S EVENING, AND JOSEPH'S.
For half a mile Elwood Withers followed the carriage containing Anna Warriner and her friend; then, at the curve of the valley, their roads parted, and Lucy and he were alone. The soft light of the delicious summer evening was around them; the air, cooled by the stream which broadened and bickered beside their way, was full of all healthy meadow odors, and every farm in the branching dells they passed was a picture of tranquil happiness. Yet Lucy had sighed before she was aware of it,—a very faint, tremulous breath, but it reached Elwood's sensitive ear.
"You don't seem quite well, Lucy," he said.
"Because I have talked so little?" she asked.
"Not just that, but—but I was almost afraid my coming for you was not welcome. I don't mean—" But here he grew confused, and did not finish the sentence.
"Indeed, it was very kind of you," said she. This was not an answer to his remark, and both felt that it was not.
Elwood struck the horse with his whip, then as suddenly drew the reins on the startled animal. "Pshaw!" he exclaimed, in a tone that was almost fierce, "what's the use o' my beating about the bush in this way?"
Lucy caught her breath, and clenched her hands under her shawl for one instant. Then she became calm, and waited for him to say more.
