"Why not, Ted? It's untidy enough as it is," and her grey eyes opened wide at me. I couldn't explain.
"Please leave it."
"Silly boy, if you want me to," she laughed, and tossed it back with a shake of her head.
"May I touch it?" I begged, stretching forth my hand. Instinctively she drew away slightly.
"I don't know, Ted," and we looked at each other a long minute.
"Please," I coaxed. She hesitated and then she began to do it up.
"I don't think you'd better," she said so low I could scarcely hear her. "It isn't like us, Ted." That answer was so final that I did not dream of questioning it.
"I'm sorry I asked—forgive me, Helen dear," and I got up to gather sticks with which to revive our fire. Leonidas remained on guard by Helen's side. While I was away I led the horses over to a pond at the foot of the hill and watered them. Upon my return Helen was looking her imperturbable neat self. We read the Mallory together before the fire until the sinking November sun warned us to go. The problem arose: would Leonidas follow our horses? He could not be led on a leash, and without Leonidas Helen refused to return. Experiment was necessary; to our joy Leonidas remained indifferent whether we rode or walked afoot. He was content to follow either way. With some trepidation we picked our way by the first farm-house we passed, expecting either to be challenged to surrender the dog or else to see Leonidas dash home; neither of these things happened. It was impossible to canvass the countryside, house by house, looking for his owner—at least, I thus stifled Helen's conscience on this point, for, faced with the necessity of carrying him off, she suddenly felt we ought to pay for him. Leonidas simply came.
The air grew chillier and chillier; Helen started off on a brisk canter to warm us up. Along a soft dirt road we went at a good clip, Leonidas trailing desperately in the rear. We were on the crest of a hill overlooking distant Deep Harbor and the lake. The soft coal smoke lay black over the town, blending with the lighter greys of the water and sky. All outlines were blurred and softened in the half light, and Deep Harbor might have been a city of dreams. Ahead of me, Helen must have been thinking something the same, for she pointed toward it with a sweeping gesture of her arm.
As she did so her horse caught a loose stone, stumbled, and fell. I had one glimpse of her lying motionless in the road, after her horse scrambled up and dashed on, riderless; the next I knew, I was at her side, my own horse abandoned, holding her tightly in my arms.