"Come," said Evelina; "come to where we were sitting last night and I will tell you." He followed her back to the maple beside the broken wall, where the two chairs still faced each other. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at her so keenly that she felt, in spite of the darkness and her veil, that he must see her face.
"Piper Tom," she said, "when you came to me, I was the most miserable woman on earth. I had been most cruelly betrayed, and sorrow seized upon me when I was not strong enough to stand it. It preyed upon me until it became an obsession--it possessed me absolutely, and from it there was no escape but death."
"I know," answered the Piper. "I found the bottle that had held the dreamless sleep. I'm thinking you had thrown it away."
"Yes, I had thrown it away, but only because I was too proud to die at his door--do you understand?"
"Yes, I'm thinking I understand, but go on. You've not told me whether or no you mocked me. What did you mean?"
"I meant," said Evelina, steadfastly, "that if you cared for the woman you had led out of the shadow of the cypress, and for all that was in her heart to give you, she was yours. Not only out of gratitude, but because you have put trust into a heart that has known no trust since its betrayal, and because, where trust is, there may some day come--more."
Her voice sank almost to a whisper, but Piper Tom heard it. He took her hand in his own, and she felt him tremble--she was the strong one, now.
"Spinner in the Sun," he began, huskily, "were you meaning that you'd go with me when I took the highway again, and help me make the world easier for everybody with a hurt heart?"
"Yes," she answered. "You called me and I came--for always."
"Were you meaning that you'd face the storms and the cold with me, and take no heed of the rain--that you'd live on the coarse fare I could pick up from day to day, and never mind it?"
"Yes, I meant all that."
"Were you meaning, perhaps, that you'd make a home for me? Ah, Spinner in the Sun, it takes a woman to make a home!"
"Yes, I'd make a home, or go gypsying with you, just as you chose."
The Piper laughed, with inexpressible tenderness. "You know, I'm thinking, that 't would be a home, and not gypsying--that I'd not let you face anything I could shield you from."