“You think if I did it, it would be because I’m brave and a good daughter, and things like that. No, it’s none of those things. It’s because, while other people have been going to New York and to Mexico, to London and to Paris, and—and—the farthest places, while they traveled north, south, east, west, I’ve sat here in this little house in Valdivia, and sewed and planted a garden and heard everybody else saying good-by, and listened to that woman over the way playing ‘Partant pour la Syrie,’ and have still stayed here, and sewed, and gardened, and only heard about the world. I’ve done it long enough! I’m going to the North, too!” Hildegarde stood up with eyes that looked straight forward into space. A movement from the other seemed to bring the would-be traveler back. “If anybody will help me,” she said, turning her eyes on Bella’s face.
The younger girl was on her feet. In the silence the two moved toward each other. Bella lifted her arms and threw them about Hildegarde’s neck. “I’ve told you I’ll help you.”
“I love you very much already, but if you’d do that for me—” The shining eyes pieced out the broken phrase.
Bella turned her graceful little head toward the dining-room door. Cheviot had raised his voice. But they couldn’t hear the words.
“There’s only one thing”—Bella spoke in a whisper—“just think a moment; all those hundreds of miles with a dog team over the ice, in an arctic winter. If anybody else had done such a thing we should never have heard the last of it. The world wouldn’t be long in having another book on heroism in high latitudes. But we all know that man”—she moved her head in the direction of the voice—“we’ll never hear of it again. He’s done that gigantic journey just for you,”—Hildegarde disengaged herself—“and to be with you again. And here you are planning to go away. It isn’t my business, but I think you’ll be making a terrible mistake, Hildegarde, if you—”
Her friend turned from her with unusual abruptness.
“He’s nicer than ever,” Bella persisted. “He’s charming. I always said so.”
“And I always said”—Hildegarde stopped and looked at Bella with an odd intentness. “You’re a nicer girl than you used to be.”
“Thank you,” said the other, smiling faintly, but she saw that she had failed.
“And I don’t mean because you’re willing to help me in this.”