There was a whippoorwill calling in some trees to the left; the moon was dim under a golden dapple of clouds.

She could not feel her hands or her feet; she seemed to feel nothing except her soul.
Then she heard, loud and sweet and clear, a boy's whistle, one of the popular tunes of the day.

It came nearer and nearer, and it was in the same key with the child's thoughts and dreams.

Then she saw a slender figure dark against the moonlight stop at a fence, and she jumped up and ran towards it with no hesitation through the dewy grass; and it was the boy, Granville Joy.

He stood looking at her.
He had a handsome, eager face, and Ellen looked at him, her lips parted, her face like a lily in the white light.
"Hulloo," said the boy.
"Hulloo," Ellen responded, faintly.
Granville extended one rough, brown, boyish hand over the fence, and Ellen laid her little, soft hand in it.