“I know, dear. It hurts—but I must.” And then, afraid of that unmanageable little imp within him that had a way of taking the reins now and then, he only managed to add, “I'll pack now so we can talk after dinner,” and bolted upstairs.
After a hasty dinner he found her waiting with her coat and hat on. “I'm going to the station with you,” she said. “Mother thinks it will be all right, with Baker to drive. Now come out and tell me about it.” After saying which, she herself began, as soon as they were pacing the veranda arm in arm, on an entirely different subject. “I've talked with mother, John. I—I suppose I ought to have waited—it was really your place, wasn't it? But I'm so happy I couldn't wait. And dear old mother was so surprised—I was excited, I guess, and I laughed a little, and———”
“I wanted to see her anyway, before I go.”
“You can't now, John. She's so tired and stirred up she has gone right to bed. But—I don't think you'll find her very hard to talk with when you do see her.”
“Does she think she can give you up?”
They were standing at the end of the veranda, and Margaret was leaning back with both hands on the railing. She shook her head and looked mischievously at him. “I don't know but I shall have to be a little jealous of mother. I couldn't let many people talk about you like she does.”
Halloran had never seen her in such spirits. It was slowly coming to him that this was neither of the Margarets he had known in the past. He had never seen her so well, for one thing; and now, besides, she was happy. And all the playful tenderness, the mischief, the devotion of her honest heart were his. Was it a wonder, then, that she captivated him as never before? That her fancy played about him, and led his wits such a mad, happy chase that it was she, at the last, who had to tell him that the carriage was waiting for them and that they really must go! And as they rolled along toward the village—as the first mile-post gleamed in the moonlight and slipped away behind them; as the rushing Panther Kill roared a moment in their ears and then, too, slipped behind; as they passed the quarry and came slowly in sight of the red and green lights of the railroad, Halloran's heart failed him. They were on the back seat of the mountain wagon, deep in the shadow; she was in his arms for the last time until—when? They were dropping into silence as the parting drew near.
“Margaret,” he whispered, “I've been thinking—I can't go to-night—it's no use.”
“No, John, don't go.”
“We'll turn around—we'll go to-morrow night—you and your mother can start then, too—we'll all go West together. I'll wire Crosman to begin selling. Yes, we'll drive on to the station, and I'll send the message.”