Instead, she glanced timidly into Kenneth's
seeking eyes and her glance was a kiss.
"Rilla-my-Rilla," said Ken, "will you promise that you won't let anyone
else kiss you until I come back?"
"Yes," said Rilla, trembling and thrilling.
Susan was turning round. Ken loosened his hold and stepped to the walk.
"Good-bye," he said casually. Rilla heard herself saying it just as
casually. She stood and watched him down the walk, out of the gate, and
down the road. When the fir wood hid him from her sight she suddenly
said "Oh," in a choked way and ran down to the gate, sweet blossomy
things catching at her skirts as she ran. Leaning over the gate she saw
Kenneth walking briskly down the road, over the bars of tree shadows and
moonlight, his tall, erect figure grey in the white radiance. As he
reached the turn he stopped and looked back and saw her standing amid
the tall white lilies by the gate. He waved his hand--she waved hers--
he was gone around the turn.
Rilla stood there for a little while, gazing across the fields of mist
and silver. She had heard her mother say that she loved turns in roads--
they were so provocative and alluring. Rilla thought she hated them. She
had seen Jem and Jerry vanish from her around a bend in the road--then
Walter--and now Ken. Brothers and playmate and sweetheart--they were
all gone, never, it might be, to return. Yet still the Piper piped and
the dance of death went on.
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