"I might go to the top of old 'Berdo' in the morning; or I might be here, waiting for you, when you come to paint." He was putting his things in the box--thinking he would persuade her to let him accompany her a little way; if she saw that he really would paint no more.

When he bent over the box, she was speaking.

"I hope you will," he answered.
There was no reply.
He straightened up and looked around.
She was gone.
For some time, he stood searching the glade with his eyes, carefully; listening to catch a sound--a puzzled, baffled look upon his face.

Taking his things, at last, he started up the little path.

But before he reached the old gate, a low laugh caused him to whirl quickly about.
There she stood, beside the spring--a teasing smile on her face.