His eyes were hungry. Barbara could not find words.
"Good-by," he concluded. "Good-by. You will forgive me in time—or forget, which is much the same. Believe me, if I have offended you, my punishment is going to be severe. Good-by."
"Good-by," said Barbara, a little breathlessly. She had already forgotten the trick. She could think only that the forest, the unfriendly forest, was about to recall her son.
"Good-by," he repeated again. He should have gone, but did not. The situation became strained.
"When are you coming to see me?" she inquired at length. "I shall be here two weeks yet."
"Never," he replied.
"What do you mean?" she asked after a moment.
"After Painted Rock, the wilderness," he explained, almost bitterly, "the wilderness and solitude for many years—forever!"
"Don't go until to-morrow," she urged.
"I must."