empty benches enough nearby. It looked odd, she supposed, her sharing his. Immediately she opened her shopping-bag, drew out a letter—any old letter—and appeared to become engrossed.
Nathan had been expecting Reba to approach the bench by way of the little stone bridge, as on the previous occasions. He had been watching the bridge closely for the last ten minutes. The slight rustle of skirts behind him, the silent possession of the other end of his bench took him by surprise. When he glanced up and saw Rebecca sitting there, three feet away from him, head bent, eyes downcast, rummaging busily in her shopping-bag, his first emotion was one of amazement, his second of mystification. He stared at her without moving a muscle. What did she mean? What did she imply? Did she dread his greeting? Wish to postpone for a moment or two the first awkward words of recognition? Ah, he understood. She was right. Silence was best after all. The moment was too significant for words. He doubted if he could speak anyhow. The moment was too significant even for the encounter of their eyes. Was it fear of her, or doubt of her, or love of her that choked him so?
She was in gray to-day as she had been that last time. But her costume was not so gala. There were no draperies, no billows to-day. She looked like some little gray furry animal in her close tailored gown, smooth and soft and sleek. One could see the curves of her. If one dared, one could stroke her, and feel the curves! Yes, she was like one of the little gray captive fawns Nathan used to like to stroke when he was a boy. A neighboring farmer had caught a couple
