She got up, and stretching her arms above her head as if she were trying to cast off some burden of thought, went out into the open air again.
Lord Norman loved her! It seemed so strange! Why, he had only seen her a few days ago! What should she say to him? She had said “No” last night, and had forbidden him to follow her. Would he think it very unkind of her? Would he go away? She asked herself if she should be sorry if he did go—if she should never see him again—and she was too innocent to know that if she had loved Lord Norman as he loved her she would not have had to ask herself the question.
Instead of going down to the camp, as was her custom each morning, she wandered along the trail that led up to the mountain. She followed the trail for a mile or two, and then seating herself upon a bowlder, leaned her chin upon her hand, and gazed down upon the camp below. Suddenly she started to her feet; her sharp eye had seen a horseman riding along the valley toward the camp, and she recognized her guardian, Varley Howard. She hastened down the trail, and reached the hut almost at the same moment as he did.
“Well, Ralda!” he said in his slow, low-pitched voice. “No need to ask how you are—though, by the way,” he added, as the flush which his advent had caused left her cheek, “you’re looking a little off color!”
She said nothing, but drew her arm through his and led him into the hut.
“I’m glad you’ve come back, Varley,” she said, putting her arms over his shoulders, and leaning over him. “I wish you wouldn’t go away so much.”
His quick ears caught the serious note in her voice, and he looked up quickly at her with his dark, mournful eyes.
“Anything the matter, Ralda?” he asked.
She took her arms from about his neck, and seated herself on the table, with her face turned from him.
“No,” she said; “what should be the matter?”