The third day after the funeral she faced Crawley in the barn-lot. With Celeste she was to leave that evening for Chicago and the time had come for settlement. She stood near the little gate that led to the barn-lot and he approached slowly, uncertain as to the propriety of addressing this woman in grief. It was to be his first word to her since he said good-by on the day that took her to Chicago with his money in her purse, the price of his horses. He had staked his all to give her the means to find Sherrod and she had found him.
"'Gene, I am going away," she said, extending her hand as he came up.
"Going away?" he repeated, blankly.
"Yes. Miss Wood has asked me to accompany her to Europe and—and I am going."
He was silent for a long time, his dazed eyes looking past her as if sightless.
"That's—that's a long ways to go, Justine," he said at last, and his voice was husky. The broad hand which had held hers for an instant, shook as he laid it on the gate post.
"It is very good of her, 'Gene, and I love her so much," she said. She saw again that love was not dead in his heart and the revelation frightened her. "You have been so good to me, 'Gene, and I don't know how I am ever to repay you," she hurried on, eager to pass the crisis.
"You—you c'n pay me in your own way an' in your own time," he said, looking intently at the ground, uncertain of his own meaning.
"We leave to-night," she said, "and I must not go away without—without settling with you."
"Settlin' with me," he echoed. There was no passing over the bitterness in his voice. "You are goin' to-night. Good God!——" he burst out, but the new habit of self-repression was strong. "I beg your pardon, Justine," he went on a moment later. "To-night?"