"Are you sure you are not mistaken, Rancher Ormesby? Men do not always know their own minds," she said.
The underlying question demanded an answer, and I do not know how I furnished it, for I had already found it bewildering when asked by myself; but with deep humility I framed disjoined words, and gathered hope once more when I read what might have been a faint trace of mischief, and something more, in my companion's eyes.
"It is not very convincing—but what could you say? And you are, after all, not very wise," she said. "I wonder if I might tell you that I knew part of this long ago; but the rest I did not know until the evening the team bolted in the hollow. Still," and Lucille grew grave again, "would it hurt you very much if I said I could not listen because I feared you were only dreaming this time, too?"
"It would drive me out of Canada a broken-hearted man," I said. "It was you for whom I strove, always you—even when I did not know it—since the first day I saw you. I would fling away all I own to-morrow, and——"
The words broke off suddenly, for Lucille looked up at me, shyly this time, and from under half-lowered lashes. "I think," she said very slowly, and with a pause, during which I did not breathe, "that would be a pity, Harry Ormesby."
It was sufficient. All that the world could give seemed comprised within the brief sentence; and it was difficult to remember that we stood clear in the eyes of the swarming toilers upon the level prairie. Neither do I remember what either of us next said, for there was a glamour upon me; but as we turned back towards Haldane, side by side, I hazarded a query, and Lucille smiled. "You ask too many questions—are you not yet content? Still, since you ask, I think I did not understand aright either until a little while ago."
Haldane appeared satisfied, though, perhaps, that is not the most appropriate word, for he himself supplied a better one; and when we were next alone, and I ventured thanks and protestations, laughed, in the whimsical fashion he sometimes adopted, I think, to hide his inward sentiments.
"You need not look so contrite, for I suppose you could not help it; and I am resigned," he said. "There. We will take all the rest for granted, and you must wait another year." Then, although Haldane smiled again, he laid his hand on my shoulder in a very kindly fashion as he added; "Lucille might, like her sister, have shone in London and Paris; but it seems she prefers the prairie—and, after all, I do not know that she has not chosen well."
The story of my failures, mistakes, and struggles ended then and there, for henceforward, even when passing troubles rested upon us, I could turn for counsel and comfort to a helpmate whose wisdom and sympathy were equalled only by her courage. Nevertheless, two incidents linger in my memory, and were connected with the last meeting of what had now ceased to be a prairie tribunal at Bonaventure. It was an occasion of festivity, but regret was mingled with it, for Boone and Cotton would leave us that night, and there was not one of the bronzed men gathered in the great hall at Bonaventure who would not miss them. Boone, it may be mentioned, had, after entering into recognizances to appear if wanted, been finally released from them by the police. At length Haldane stood up at the head of the long table.
"This has been a day to remember, and, I think, what we have decided to-night will set its mark upon the future of the prairie," he said. "Where all did well there were two who chiefly helped us to win what we have done, and it is to our sorrow that one goes back to his own country now that his work is well accomplished. We will not lightly forget him. The other will, I hope, be spared to stay with you and share your triumphs as he has done your adversity. I have to announce my daughter's approaching marriage to your comrade, Henry Ormesby."