“Oh!” she cried, “I—­I thought——­”

“I was afraid you’d think it was too early,” said Nick as quietly as possible, though his voice shook.  “I got in on the train; and after my bath I was taking a walk around, till a decent time to call.  Then Timmy came running to welcome me——­”

“I believe he must really have seen you!” cried Angela, grateful to Timmy, who was saving them both the first awkwardness of the situation.  “He is the most extraordinary cat—­quite a super-cat.  And you remember, he used always to know what time you were coming to call when we were in San Francisco.”

Owing to Timmy, they were spared a meeting on the veranda, and Angela did not offer to take her visitor into the house yet.

There were some quiet places in the garden in the deep shadow of trees, where she could say what she had to say better than between four walls.  They strolled on, Nick holding Timmy, who purred loudly, as if glad to welcome the giver of his jade collar.

“I got your letter just in time to catch the train for San Francisco, and then to get on here,” Hilliard explained.  “Of course, you knew I’d come at once.”

“No—­I wasn’t sure.  I thought—­I might hear from you this morning—­a telegram or letter,” Angela stammered.  “But—­I’m glad, very glad.  It was good of you to come, and so soon.”

“Good!”

“I wanted so much to talk to you.  I’ve been wanting it for a long time.  Ever since—­we parted.  But it was only the other night I made up my mind that I had any right to send for you.”

“What did I say to you that last day about coming from the end of the world?  It’s only a step from Lucky Star here.”

“I know what you said.  There isn’t one word I’ve forgotten.  Shall we sit under that arbour?  It’s my favourite seat, and no one ever disturbs me.”

They sat down on a rustic bench curtained with trails of Virginia creeper, red as the blood of the dying summer.  Nick kept Timmy on his knee, stroking the glossy back.  His hand looked very strong and brown, and Angela longed to snatch it up and lay it against her cheek.  How she loved him!  How much more even than she had known when she couldn’t see his face, his eyes and the light there was in his eyes for her!  It had not changed, that wonderful light, though his face was sadder, and, she thought, thinner.

“Are you glad to see me again—­Nick?” she could not resist asking.

He smiled at her wistfully.  “Just about as glad as a man would be to see God’s sunlight if he’d been in prison, or starving in a mine that had fallen in on him.  Only perhaps a little gladder than that.”

She answered him with a look; and then, as involuntarily she put out her hand to stroke Timmy, their fingers met.  He caught hers, held them for an instant, and let them go.

“Nick, that day when you saved my life and told me you loved me, did I make you realize that I loved you, too?” she asked.