He peered at her, inquisitive. Surely she could not have failed to recognize him? No! that was incredible. And he, her? There could be no doubt about it. Her voice, her figure, her manner of dressing her hair; even the trick of her speech, moulded on soft wilful lips; even the fashion of her gown, which he seemed vaguely to recall--they were all Kate, indubitably Kate. No, he must seek another reason for her caprice. And could it be this--that all the time in “Kit” had been meant himself? that all the time she had been taking this playful symbolic means to avow her love for one she dared not admit by name? It was a revealing, a rapturous thought; it might explain much which had seemed inexplicable. And yet, if it were true, what had decided the crisis? Was it possible that it was she herself who had written that anonymous letter, confident in her bait to allure him hither? But, in that case, how had her husband got wind of the ruse? And who were those others, all, apparently, in the emblematic secret? Well, at least she had claimed him, and that was sufficient for his present satisfaction. If some eavesdropping mischief, possessed of knowledge, was manœuvring to complicate the issue, they must set their own wits to outwit hers. For the moment it was only his obvious policy to answer that question in kind. “Yes, I am Kit,” he said. “I understand at last--your very Kit, sweet cousin. And now, let us away to covert where we can talk.” “Which way?” she said. Her voice seemed to suggest some tiny inward struggle. “The shady way,” he answered, with a laugh; and she went compliantly with him. “You made sure of my coming?” he asked tenderly. “O yes,” she answered--“sure.” He sighed. “I have waited long, trying to dissemble, but trust a woman to know. Come this way, little cousin. There are labyrinths of wild darknesses beyond, where none may hope to track and find us. Is not the night sweet? So Phil hath sinned at last beyond forgiveness? Come--why do you linger?” For she had stopped. “I hear music,” she said. “It is only some harping fellow. Come!” “Where is he?” “Yonder in the grove.” She stood as if spellbound, took a hurried step or two, paused, and caught her hands to her bosom. “Let us go listen,” she said; her breath came quick. “Where is he? I will go, I tell you,” and in a moment she was running. He followed, calling to her: “Cousin, wait! What hath taken you? Stop for me at least!” But she paid no heed to him, and sped on. Her feet twinkled on the grass, in and out between the hanging lamps; he found her, lost her, found her again among the thickening throng; and in another moment, hard pressing on her tracks, he had pursued her into the ring which stood about the player--through it, to the very front, where she stopped, breathless and panting.