"You hardly expect me to understand that," she said, laughing frankly, a musical laugh that had in it the shaking, white flash of a rock-fluted hill-stream.
"No, no! I don't expect you to understand that," he said.
They went on through the deep, odorous wood, down close to the river's pale, shallow mystery again, and so back to the big gate at Madeira Place. There at the gate the girl put out her hand to him again.
"Good-bye!" she said softly, "good-bye!"
As he bent to kiss the hand his breath came hard. "It is not good-bye," he said. "It shall not be. I swear it."
Then he dashed on down the ridge road toward Canaan, to find Crittenton Madeira.