"No," he said sullenly. "I'll wait. I'm scared to tell you now!"
She did not urge him, and it was not till the next morning that he spoke about his plan. She had got out to her chair again and had made a pretense of eating an ill-cooked mess of canned stuff which he had brought to her on a tray. It was after he had taken this breakfast away that he broke out as though his excitement had forced a lock.
"I'm going down to Rusty to-day," he said. His eyes were shining. He looked at her boldly enough now.
"And take me?" Sheila half-started up. "And take me?"
"No, ma'am. You're to stay here safe and snug." She dropped back. "I'll leave everything handy for you. There's enough food here for an army and enough fuel…. You're as safe here as though you were at the foot of God's throne. Don't look like that, girl. I can't take you. You're not strong enough to make the journey in this cold, even on a sled. And we can't"—his voice sunk and his eyes fell—"we can't go on like this, I reckon."
"N-no." Sheila's forehead was puckered. Her fingers trembled on the arms of her chair. "N-no…." Then, with a sort of quaver, she added, "Oh, why can't we go on like this?—till the snow goes and I can travel with you!"
"Because," he said roughly, "we can't. You take my word for it." After a pause he went on in his former decisive tone. "I'll be back in two or three days. I'll fetch the parson."
Sheila sat up straight.
His eyes held hers. "Yes, ma'am. The parson. I'm going to marry you, Sheila."
She repeated this like a lesson. "You are going to marry me…."