it.

"Why did n't you call to me?"

"Because I wished to keep pace with you." He turned away from her.

"When you are rested we will start again," he said.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Then I am ready."

"You will take my arm?"

"No," she answered.

"Then you must keep by my side where I can watch you."

They took the remaining distance in more leisurely fashion, now
realizing that they were nearing the outskirts of this fairy kingdom.
With this thought he relaxed a little and instantly the sun and
burgeoning nature claimed him, making light of every problem save the
supreme one of bringing together a man and his mate.

They crossed a field or two and so came again into the road which they
had left three miles back. Walking a short distance along this, they
found themselves on a sharp hill overlooking the station a few hundred
yards below. With the same impulse they turned back far enough to be
out of sight of this. Twenty minutes still remained to them. They sat
down by the side of the road where they had rested before. A light
breeze pushing through the top of a big pine made a sound as of running
water in the distance.

With her chin in one hand, elbow on knee, she studied him a moment as
though endowed with sudden inspiration. A quick frown which had
shadowed his face at sight of the railroad had driven home a suspicion
which she had long held. Now she dared to voice it.

"Have things been mixed up for you--back there?"

The question startled him. He gave her a swift look as though to
divine the reason for it. It was so direct that it was hard to evade.
And he would not lie directly to her. So he replied bluntly,

"Yes."

She waited. He saw her expectant eyes, but he went no further. Part
of the price he paid for being here was renunciation of the balm he
might have in the sharing of his trouble with her. He knew that she
would take his silence for a rebuff, but he could not help that. He
said nothing more, the silence eating into him.

But something stronger than her pride drove her on.

"Mr. Donaldson," she said, "you have given a great deal of time to me
and mine--if there is anything I may do in return, you will give me the
privilege?"

"There is nothing," he answered.

He saw the puzzled hurt in her eyes.

"I know all that you with your big heart would do for me," he declared
earnestly, "but honestly there is nothing possible. My worry will cure
itself.