“Until you come back!” said Hetty, checking a little cry of dismay. “Where are you going?”
“To bring a sleigh.”
“But Allonby’s is nearly eight miles away. You could not leave us here three hours.”
“No,” said Clavering gravely. “You would be very cold by then. Still, you need not be anxious. Nothing can hurt you here; and I will come, or send somebody for you, before long.”
Hetty sat very still while he drew on the fur mittens he had removed to make the fire. Then, she rose suddenly.
“No,” she said. “It was my fault—and we cannot let you go.”
Clavering smiled. “I am afraid your wishes wouldn’t go quite as far in this case as they generally do with me. You and Miss Schuyler can’t stay here until I could get a sleigh from Allonby’s.”
He turned as he spoke, and was almost out of the shanty before Hetty, stepping forward, laid her hand upon his arm.
“Now I know,” she said. “It is less than three miles to Muller’s, but the homestead-boys would make you a prisoner if you went there. Can’t you see that would be horrible for Flo and me? It was my wilfulness that made the trouble.”
Clavering very gently shook off her grasp, and Miss Schuyler almost admired him as he stood looking down upon her companion with the flickering firelight on his face. It was a striking face, and the smile in the dark eyes became it. Clavering had shaken off his furs, and the close-fitting jacket of dressed deerskin displayed his lean symmetry, for he had swung round in the entrance to the shanty and the shadows were black behind him.