They had some way to go; so Cecil had taken up
Katie before her on her mule; the pastor walked by her side, glozing
(for the road was not very steep) on all sorts of subjects, gravely and
smoothly, as was his wont. They had crossed the first line of hills, and
were descending into the valley beyond, when, turning a sharp corner
where a projecting rock almost barred the path, they came suddenly on
Royston Keene. He was lying at full length, his head resting against the
knotted root of an olive, with eyes half closed, and the cigar between
his lips, that seldom left them when he was alone. It _was_ odd that he
should have selected that especial spot for the scene of his _siesta_.
Cecil did her very utmost to look unconcerned: it was too provoking that
she could not help blushing! Mr. Fullarton evidently looked upon it in
the light of an ambush. Had he ventured to give his thoughts utterance,
certainly the ready text would have sprung to his lips, "Hast thou found
me, O mine enemy?" If there was "malice prepense" there, the "enemy"
deserved some credit for the perfectly natural air of surprise with
which he rose and greeted them.
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