"You probably have. Some one has said it. But He also added, as a balancing clause, 'The Spirit giveth life.' That's the vital part of it. To find out where the spirit is in our present situation is the question now."
She looked at him tearfully. "Well, where is it?"
He rose quietly. "That's for you and Mr. Walker to discover for yourselves. I've gone as far as I dare."
"You're not going away?" she asked, hastily.
He smiled at them both. For the first time in Chip's acquaintance with him it was a positive smile. "I think you'll most easily find your way alone."
"Oh no. Wait!" she begged; but he had already lifted his hat in his stately way and begun to walk back toward the hotel.
Then came the bliss of being alone together. In spite of everything, they felt that. Edith leaned across the rude table, her hands clasped upon it. She spoke rapidly, as if to make full use of the time.
"Oh, Chip, what are we to do?"
He too leaned across the table, his arms folded upon it, the extinct cigar still between his fingers. He gazed deep into her eyes. "It's a chance. It will never come again. Shall we take it?—or let it go?"
"Could you take it, if I did?"