"I'm not a ghost. I'm only Clare. I've
been waiting for you."
He left his horse, and hurried to her.
"Waiting for me? I did not write. Have you second sight, little Clare?"
"No, only first news. This isn't one of the big cities where the crowds
rush by and do not notice each other. It's only a lonesome little place,
Harlan, and gossip travels fast. I heard you were home five minutes
after the stage was in. So I came here and waited."
He took both her hands between his broad palms, caressing them.
"And you knew I'd hurry to come across the long bridge? That makes me
happy, Clare, for you must have been thinking about me."
"I haven't many things to do these days except think," she returned,
wistfully. "You'll understand why I came down here. I'm not trying to
hide away from my father, and I know you are not afraid of him. But
lectures on the subject of not doing the things you don't have any idea
of doing are not to my taste, and I know they don't suit you. So we'll
sit here in peace and quietness, and you shall tell me all about it.
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