The Fur Bringers Part 16

He drew a long breath and shook his head.

"I wouldn't take you now," he said doggedly.

"Of course not!" she said quickly. "I was only joking. But why?" she added weakly. Her hand crept into his.

"It wouldn't be fair," he said, frowning. "It would be taking too much from you."

"Too much!" she murmured, with an obscure smile.

Ambrose struggled with the difficulty of explaining what he meant. "I never do anything prudent myself. I hate it. But I can't let you chuck everything--without thinking what you are doing. You ought to stay home a while--and be sure."

"It isn't going to be so easy," she said, "quarreling continually."

"I sha'n't see you again until I come for you," said Ambrose. "And it's useless to write letters from Moultrie to Enterprise. I'm out of the way. Why can't the question of me be dropped between you and your father?"

"Think of living on from month to month without a word! It will be ghastly!" she cried.

"You've only known me two days," he said sagely. "I could not leave such a gap as that."

"How coldly you can talk about it!" she cried rebelliously.

Ambrose frowned again. "When you call me cold you shut me up," he said quietly.

"But if you do not make a fuss about me every minute," she said navely, "it shames me because I am so foolish about you."

Ambrose laughed suddenly.

There followed another interlude of celestial silliness.

This time it was Colina who withdrew herself from him.

"Ah," she said with a catch of the breath, "every minute of this is making it harder. I shall want to die when you leave me."

Ambrose attempted to take her in his arms again.

"No," she insisted. "Let us try to be sensible. We haven't decided yet what we're going to do."

"I'm going home," said Ambrose, "to work like a galley-slave."

"It is so far," she murmured.

"I'll find some way of letting you hear from me. Twice before the winter sets in I'll send a messenger. And you, you keep a little book and write in it whenever you think of me, and send it back by my messenger."

"A little book won't hold it all," she said navely.

"Meanwhile I'll be making a place for you. I couldn't take you to Moultrie."

She asked why.

"Eva, Peter's wife," he explained. "In a way Peter is my boss, you see. It would be a horrible situation."

"I see," said Colina. "But if there was no help for it I could."

"Ah, you're too good to me!" he cried. "But it won't be necessary.

Peter and I have always intended to open other posts. I'll take the first one, and you and I will start on our own. Think of it! It makes me silly with happiness!"

Upon this foundation they raised a s.h.i.+ning castle in the air.

"I must go," said Colina finally, "or father will be equipping an armed force to take me."

"You must go," he agreed, but weakly.

They repeated it at intervals without any move being made. At last she got up.

"Is this--good-by?" she faltered.

He nodded.

They both turned pale. They were silent. They gazed at each other deeply and wistfully.

"Ah! I can't! I can't!" murmured Colina brokenly. "Such a little time to be happy!"

They flew to each other's arms.

"No--not quite good-by!" said Ambrose shakily. "I'll write to you to-morrow morning--everything I think of to-night. I'll send it by Tole Grampierre. You can send an answer by him."

"Ah, my dear love, if you forget me I shall die!"

"You doubt me still! I tell you, you have changed everything for me.

I cannot forget you unless I lose my mind!"

CHAPTER X.

ANOTHER VISITOR.

Ambrose, having filled the day as best he could with small tasks, was smoking beside his fire and enviously watching his dog. Job had no cares to keep him wakeful. It was about eight o'clock, and still full day.

It was Ambrose's promise to visit Simon Grampierre that had kept him inactive all day. He did not wish to complicate the already delicate situation between Grampierre and Gaviller by an open visit to the former. He meant to go with Tole at dawn.

Suddenly Job raised his head and growled. In a moment Ambrose heard the sound of a horse approaching at a walk above. Thinking of Colina, his heart leaped--but she would never come at a walk! An instinct of wariness bade him sit where he was.

A mounted man appeared on the bank above. It was a breed forty-five years old perhaps, but vigorous and youthful still; good looking, well kept, with an agreeable manner; thus Ambrose's first impressions. The stranger rode a good horse.

"Well?" he said, looking down on Ambrose in surprise.