“Oh, what’s the use to be extravagant?”
murmured Elnora.
WHEREIN PHILIP AMMON KNEELS TO ELNORA, AND STRANGERS COME TO THE
LIMBERLOST
The month which followed was a reproduction of the
previous June. There were long moth hunts, days
of specimen gathering, wonderful hours with great
books, big dinners all of them helped to prepare, and
perfect nights filled with music. Everything
was as it had been, with the difference that Philip
was now an avowed suitor. He missed no opportunity
to advance himself in Elnora’s graces. At
the end of the month he was no nearer any sort of
understanding with her than he had been at the beginning.
He revelled in the privilege of loving her, but he
got no response. Elnora believed in his love,
yet she hesitated to accept him, because she could
not forget Edith Carr.
One afternoon early in July, Philip came across the
fields, through the Comstock woods, and entered the
garden. He inquired for Elnora at the back door
and was told that she was reading under the willow.
He went around the west end of the cabin to her.
She sat on a rustic bench they had made and placed
beneath a drooping branch. He had not seen her
before in the dress she was wearing. It was clinging
mull of pale green, trimmed with narrow ruffles and
touched with knots of black velvet; a simple dress,
but vastly becoming. Every tint of her bright
hair, her luminous eyes, her red lips, and her rose-flushed
face, neck, and arms grew a little more vivid with
the delicate green setting.
He stopped short. She was so near, so temptingly
sweet, he lost control. He went to her with a
half-smothered cry after that first long look, dropped
on one knee beside her and reached an arm behind her
to the bench back, so that he was very near.
He caught her hands.
“Elnora!” he cried tensely, “end
it now! Say this strain is over. I pledge
you that you will be happy. You don’t know!
If you only would say the word, you would awake to
new life and great joy! Won’t you promise
me now, Elnora?”
The girl sat staring into the west woods, while strong
in her eyes was her father’s look of seeing
something invisible to others. Philip’s
arm slipped from the bench around her. His fingers
closed firmly over hers. “Elnora,”
he pleaded, “you know me well enough. You
have had time in plenty. End it now. Say
you will be mine!” He gathered her closer, pressing
his face against hers, his breath on her cheek.
“Can’t you quite promise yet, my girl
of the Limberlost?”
Elnora shook her head. Instantly he released
her.
“Forgive me,” he begged. “I
had no intention of thrusting myself upon you, but,
Elnora, you are the veriest Queen of Love this afternoon.
From the tips of your toes to your shining crown,
I worship you. I want no woman save you.
You are so wonderful this afternoon, I couldn’t
help urging. Forgive me. Perhaps it was
something that came this morning for you. I wrote
Polly to send it. May we try if it fits?
Will you tell me if you like it?”
