She replied: "To the ranch—to think things over."
The tears came to his eyes, and he said: "'Tis the sun out of me sky when ye go, Bertie. Do not stay long."
She promised to be back soon, but rode away with settled intent never to return.
No one knew her on the train, for she had drawn her veil close and sat very still. It seemed that she went near the mine in some strange way, and at the switch Williams got on the train to stop her and persuade her to return. He was terribly agitated. "Didn't you know Mart is sick?" he said, in a tone of reproach. It seemed as if a broad river of years flowed between herself and the girl who used to see this queer little man enter her hotel door—but he was unchanged. "You can't do this thing!" he went on, his lips trembling with emotion.
"What thing?" she asked.
"Fordyce tells me you're going to throw poor old Mart overboard."
"That's my notion—I can't be his wife, and so I'm getting out," she answered.
"But, girl, you can't do that!" and he swore in his excitement. "Mart needs you—we all need you. It'll kill him."
"I can't help it!" she answered, with infinite weariness in throat and brain. "I pass it up, and go back to my brother."
"I don't see why."