After a time his head lifted. Passive, clinging, trembling, she lay back in his arms.
“Are you—sure we can find a—a parson down to Paltz?” she whispered.
He laughed, and drew her up to him again. Yielding lips stopped his breath, and the laugh died. But faintly from the south sounded an echo of his tender mirth—a bubbling, gabbling sound which in turn died out and was gone: the honking hilarity of the sharp-eyed wild geese.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
The original book did not contain pages labelled 11 or 12. Original pagination has been retained.