She never could quite account for the temporary weakness that assailed her and left her mute and helpless under the spell of his eyes.

She only knew that she waited expectant,--for something that never came! What she might have said in response, what she might have done if he had uttered the words she was prepared to hear, she did not care to contemplate, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.

She only knew that she was ashamed of the thrill that went over her and strangely bitter toward him for being the cause of it.

She would not admit to herself that disappointment had anything to do with it,--for she found herself arguing, nothing could have been more distressing than to rebuff him when he seemed so eager to help her in her plans for Easter Sunday.
The fact remains, however, that Percival held his tongue, and she never quite understood why he did.
The time and the place of this encounter invited confession.

There was a full moon in the heavens, the night was still, the air crisp with the tang of October in the north,--and they were alone in the shadow of the "tabernacle." Lights gleamed in the little windows that stretched to the right and left of them.