Entering the wood she called softly:
“Ross, where are you?”
“Here, Amy,” he answered in a low joyful tone, stepping from his place of concealment and hurrying toward her.
With a glad cry she sprang into his outstretched arms, and hid her blushing face upon his shoulder. For a full minute he strained her to his breast, and neither spoke. When at last she raised her face it was wet with tears; and a catch was in her voice as she said:
“And you are going, Ross?”
“I must go, darling,” he replied softly.
“Why must you go and leave me here alone?” she cried. “Why must you run into danger, Ross? Stay here with me—please do! You may never come back.”
“There—there, little one!” he whispered soothingly. “Of course, I shall come back. Then we’ll be married; and I’ll settle down on my piece of land and never leave you again.”
“But you may—may get—killed,” she sobbed.