Part 71

"And when the two weeks have expired we shall consider whether to extend the period."

"To--life?" smiling down at her.

She flung him a look that was delightfully alluring.

"Do you wish me to--consider that?" she asked, softly.

"If you will," he said, bending down.

She laughed, gayly.

"We are coming on!" she exclaimed. "This pace is getting rather brisk--did you notice it, Mr. Macloud?"

"You're in a fast class, Miss Carrington."

She glanced up quickly.

"Now don't misunderstand me----"

"You were speaking in the language of the race track, I presume."

"I was--you understand?"

"A Southern girl usually loves--horses," with a tantalizing smile.

"It is well for you this is a public street," he said.

"Why?" she asked, with assumed innocence.

"But then if it hadn't been, you would not have ventured to tempt me," he added. "I'm grateful for the temptation, at any rate."

"His first temptation!" she mocked.

"No, not likely--but his first that he has resisted."

"And why did you resist? The fact that we are on a public street would not restrain you. There was absolutely no one within sight--and you knew it."

"How do you know it?"

"Because I looked."

"You were afraid?"

"Not at all!--only careful."

"This is rather faster than the former going!" he laughed.

"We would better slow down a bit!" she laughed back. "Any way, here is the Cemetery, and we dare not go faster than a walk in it. Yonder, just within the gates, is the Duval burial place. Come, I'll show you Parmenter's grave?"

They crossed to it--marked by a blue slate slab, which covered it entirely. The inscription, cut in script, was faint in places and blurred by moss, in others.

Macloud stooped and, with his knife, scratched out the latter.

"He died two days after the letter was written: May 12, 1738," said he. "His age is not given. Duval did not know it, I reckon."