Far away on the rim of the prairie there was a stirring of the haze, and a dim smear of pinewoods grew out of the dingy vapour. Then a vista of rolling hills rose to view, and was lost in mist again, until high above them all a great serrated rampart of never-melting snow gleamed ethereally against a strip of blue. It was a brief, bewildering vision, sudden as the shifting of a gorgeous transformation scene, and then the vapours rolled down again; but they felt that they had looked upon an unearthly glory. Hetty turned to her companion with a little gasp.
"Oh," she said, "it was wonderful!"
"It was real, at least," said Ingleby. "Your first glimpse of the country to which I have brought you. I think we shall be happy there—and we will remember afterwards that we saw it together."
Again the little pink tinge crept into Hetty's cheek, but she said nothing, and Ingleby's glance rested on the shoe, which he had not noticed before.
"Hetty," he said severely, "do you want to catch cold? What is that doing there?"
Hetty essayed to draw her foot farther beneath the hem of the dusty skirt, and the colour grew a trifle plainer in her face; but Ingleby made a little reproachful gesture, and taking up the shoe rubbed it with his handkerchief.
"Now," he said, "I'm going to the bridge. Put it on!"
He turned away; but the leather was stiff with water, and Hetty struggled fruitlessly with the buttons, and when she rejoined him Ingleby noticed that she was walking somewhat awkwardly.
"Stand still a minute," he said. "You can't limp back along the track like that."
He dropped on one knee, and Hetty turned her face aside when he looked up again.