Through the blessing of death, infinite possession comes to so many souls that life leaves beggared; and in those hurried moments of uncertainty, she belonged to him more fully than he could hope for while she lived.
"Is it you, Genesee?" she said, after looking at him drowsily for a little. "I—I thought Tillie was here, crying, and kissing me."
"No, Miss, you fainted, I reckon, and just dreamed that part of it," he answered, but avoiding the eyes that, though drowsy, looked so directly at him.
"I suppose so," she agreed. "I tried to reach you when I felt myself going; but you wouldn't look around. Did you catch me?"
"Yes; and I don't think you were quite square with me back there; you told me you were all right; but you must have got hurt more than you owned up to. Why didn't you tell me?"
"But I am not—indeed I am not!" she persisted. "I was not at all injured except for the jar of the fall; it leaves me dizzy and sick when I sit upright in the saddle—that is all."
"And it is enough," he returned decidedly; "do you 'spose, if you'd told me just how you felt, I should have set you there to ride through these hills and hollows?"
"What else could you do?" she asked; "you couldn't bring a carriage for me."
"May be not, but I could have ridden Mowitza myself and carried you."
"That would be funny," she smiled. "Poor Mowitza! could she carry double?"