“That will do,” returned Tom, with a sigh of relief; “then there will be no need for me to—”
“To what?” asked Betty, seeing that the youth paused.
“Forgive me if I do not say what I meant to. I have reasons for—” (he paused again)—“Then you are pleased with the way the people treat you?”
“Of course I am. They could not be kinder if I were one of themselves. And some of the women are so intelligent, too! You know I have picked up a good deal of the Indian language, and understand them pretty well, though I can’t speak much, and you’ve no idea what deep thinkers some of them are! There is Unaco’s mother, who looks so old and dried up and stupid—she is one of the dearest old things I ever knew. Why,” continued the girl, with increasing animation, as she warmed with her subject, “that old creature led me, the other night, into quite an earnest conversation about religion, and asked me ever so many questions about the ways of God with man—speculative, difficult questions too, that almost puzzled me to answer. You may be sure I took the opportunity to explain to her God’s great love to man in and through Jesus, and—”
She stopped abruptly, for Tom Brixton was at that moment regarding her with a steady and earnest gaze.
“Yes,” he said, slowly, almost dreamily, “I can well believe you took your opportunity to commend Jesus to her. You did so once to me, and—”
Tom checked himself, as if with a great effort. The girl longed to hear more, but he did not finish the sentence. “Well,” he said, with a forced air of gaiety, “I have sought you here to tell you that I am going off on—on—a long hunting expedition. Going at once—but I would not leave without bidding you good-bye.”
“Going away, Mr Brixton!” exclaimed Betty, in genuine surprise.
“Yes. As you see, I am ready for the field, with rifle and wallet, firebag and blanket.”
“But you are not yet strong enough,” said Betty.