"No," he answered with an attempt at laughter, "but the rest is not for publication."
There was a little tremor in his voice as he spoke which Helen Yardely did not fail to notice. For a moment she stood there undecided. She was conscious of an uplift of spirit for which there appeared no valid reason, and she visioned opening out before her a way of life that a week ago she had never even dreamed of. Three days in the solitude of the wilderness with Hubert Stane had brought her closer to him than an acquaintance of years could have done, and she was aware of wild impulses in her heart. As she stood there she was half-inclined then and there to challenge fate, and to force from him the words that he withheld. Then, with a great effort, she checked the surging impulses, and gave a tremulous laugh.
"That is too bad of you," she cried. "The unpublished thoughts are always the most interesting ones.... But I must away to my house-building or I shall have to spend another night under the stars."
She turned and walked abruptly away. In her eyes as she went was a joyous light, and her heart was gay. As she swung the ax upon her shoulder and moved towards the trees she broke into song, the words of which reached Stane:
"It was a lover and his lass
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green cornfield did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding,
Sweet lovers love the Spring."