"There goes the buckboard," remarked Wayland.
"Dick," she said, "I'll write my lawyer about placing the loan in the bank at once. You need not lose any time."
"But, I can't take that, Eleanor! I haven't any security on earth to offer you."
"Oh, yes you have! I've thought all that out, too. You have the very best security I ever want."
"What?" asked Wayland incredulously. "Do you mean you trust to my honesty? Good intentions aren't usually a banking proposition—"
"You will do as security," she said.
Was it the old mountain talking again; or was it the break in her voice? Their eyes met. He had slipped from his horse.
"Don't," she cried averting her eyes with a tremor in her voice. "I couldn't bear This to be of Self! If I were a man, you'd shake hands with me and call it a bargain. Look Dick! We're in the light of the Cross! Shake hands with me! Is it a bargain?"
His hands closed over both of hers. There were tears in his eyes. He did not break out with any of the wild terms that had clamored and clamored for utterance these weeks past. He did not say any of the things that men and women say at such times in books and plays. They paused so, she on horseback, he standing at her side, on the crest of the Ridge gazing down on the Valley in the light of the Cross.
"So my old Mountain is talking to you, too?" she said. "Do you remember, Dick?"