The morning after they left New York, their private car arrived at
Savannah. At dark the night before they were rushing through a snow storm
raging in a wintry landscape. Now they were looking out upon spring from
the open windows. As soon as the train stopped, all except Marian and
Danvers left the car to walk up and down the platform. Danvers, standing
behind Marian, looked around to make sure that none of the servants was
about, then rubbed his hand caressingly and familiarly upon her cheek.
"Did you miss me?" he asked.
Marian could not prevent her head from shrinking from his touch.
"There's nobody about," Danvers said, reassuringly. But he acted upon the
hint and, taking his hand away, came around and sat beside her.
"Did you miss me?" he repeated, looking at her with an expression in his
frank, manly blue eyes that made her flush at the thought of "treason" past
and to come.
"Did _you_ miss _me_?" she evaded.
"I would have returned long ago if I had not been ashamed," he answered,
smiling. "I never thought that I should come not to care for as good
shooting as that. You almost cost me my life."
"Yes?" Marian spoke absently. She was absorbed in her mental comparison of
the two men.
"I got away from the others and was looking at your picture.
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