arranging the flowers with an artist hand.
"Here—here—" as if he had just discovered it—"is a scroll."
She darted at it and tore it off. The man was turning indifferently away as if his errand were done.
It was a poem. And she—her hands and eyes and hair—was the subject of it. She crushed it against that leaping heart—and it leaped the more.
"Wait! " she called. "Come back!"
And again she had to hold her heart in her bosom.
She did not wait for him to return she ran after him and took him by the elbow.
"Tell him—yes! Tell him his flowers are taken in and cared for. Tell him to come to me now—now—do you hear? and never to go away again! Tell him—tell him— And hasten—oh, hasten as with eagles' wings. But why do you not hasten? " For the man did not.
It was apparent in a moment why he did not. When she turned, Kito was behind her. He must have been hiding. She plunged straight into his arms. She tried to escape. But it was too late. Kito led her a captive into her own house.
