in the night i heard ?sop get up from his corner and growl; i heard it through my sleep, but i was dreaming just then of shooting, the growl of the dog fitted into the dream, and it did not wake me, quite. when i stepped out of the hut next morning there were tracks in the grass of a pair of human feet; someone had been there — had gone first to one of my windows, then to the other. the tracks were lost again down on the road.
she came towards me with hot cheeks, with a face all beaming.
“have you been waiting?” she said. “i was afraid you would have to wait.”
i had not been waiting; she was on the way before me.
“have you slept well?” i asked. i hardly knew what to say.
“no, i haven’t. i have been awake,” she answered. and she told me she had not slept that night, but had sat in a chair with her eyes closed. and she had been out of the house for a little walk.
“someone was outside my hut last night,” i said. “i saw tracks in the grass this morning.”
and her face colored; she took my hand there, on the road, and made no answer. i looked at her, and said:
“was it you, i wonder?”
“yes,” she answered, pressing close to me. “it was i. i hope i didn’t wake you — i stepped as quietly as i could. yes, it was i. i was near you again. i am fond of you!”
