“I have sometimes doubted it,” replied the girl cynically.
“Well, Miss Fuller, if you will sit down again, even in the absence of moonlight, I think I can remove your doubts.”
She stood there hesitating for a few moments, but it was too dark to see the expression on her face. Finally she sat down in the chair from which she had risen.
“I am seated,” she said; “but not to talk of moonlight, merely to tell you that I intend to go no farther. To-morrow morning we bid ‘Good-bye’ to each other. You go north, and I go south.”
“Oh, I say,” cried John reproachfully, “that’s contrary to contract. You promised to lead me to the mine.”
“I know I did; but it is always a woman’s privilege to change her mind. Perhaps you will understand I do not wish to influence you at all in the decision you may come to about the mine.”
“Would it make you abjure your cruel resolve if I informed you that I have quite determined to invest in the mine if it gives any show of success, which I am sure it will do from what you have told me about it?”
“The mine must plead its own cause,” she said, with an indifference that amazed him. “You have no real need of me as a guide, for the three men I engaged know the route as well as I do. They have been over it often enough. I am really very anxious about my father. He promised to telegraph me at Pickaxe Gulch, but has not done so. I sent a despatch the day before you arrived, but no reply came, and it may be waiting for me now at the office there.”
“Why not send back one of the men?”
“Because of my own anxiety. I fear the telegram may call me to his side. I think you will understand now why I have been distraught while in your company.”