This shaft of light moved over the forest
floor, grew ruddy, spied out a secret sparkle hidden in a fallen leaf,
shone on twisting threads of gossamer-like lines of running silver on
which the gloom was threaded, and, last of all, blazing in the face of
that fascinating dryad, caused her to draw back.
Peter, as mute as she, stretched out his arms. She darted past him in a
flash, putting her finger to her lips and looking back. The light
through the tiny spruces dappled her body; she stopped as if shot; he
came forward, humble and adoring, thinking to crush into this moment,
within these arms, all that mortal beauty, the _ignis fatuus_ of
romance.
His lips were parted. He seemed now to have her with her back against a
solid wall of rock outcropping, green-starred; but next instant she had
slipped into a cleft where his big shoulders would not go. Her eyes
shone like crystals in that inviting darkness.
"What can I do for you?" said Peter, voicelessly.
Day Rackby pinched her shoulders back, leaned forward, and drew a
mischievous finger round her throat.
* * * * *
On that night Jethro stole more than one look at the girl while she was
getting supper. Of late, when she came near him, she adopted a
beloved-old-fool style of treatment which was new to him.
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