“Bruce, do you think judge Price will ever be able to accomplish all he hopes to?” Betty asked when they had left the town behind. She drew in her horse as she spoke, and they went forward at a walk under the splendid arch of the forest and over a carpet of vivid leaves.
“I reckon he will, Betty,” responded Carrington. Unfavorable as had been his original estimate of the judge's character, events had greatly modified it.
“He really seems quite sure, doesn't he?” said Betty.
“There's not a doubt in his mind,” agreed Carrington.
He was still at Belle Plain, living in what had been Ware's office, while the Cavendishes were domiciled at the big house. He had arranged with the judge to crop a part of that hopeful gentleman's land the very next season; the fact that a lawsuit intervened between the judge and possession seemed a trifling matter, for Carrington had become infected with the judge's point of view, which did not admit of the possibility of failure; but he had not yet told Betty of his plans. Time enough for that when he left Belle Plain.
His silence concerning the future had caused Betty much thought. She wondered if he still intended going south into the Purchase; she was not sure but it was the dignified thing for him to do. She was thinking of this now as they went forward over the rustling leaves, and at length she turned in the saddle and faced him.
“I am going to miss Hannibal dreadfully—yes, and the judge, and Mr. Yancy!” she began.
“And when I leave—how about me, Betty?” Carrington asked unexpectedly, but he only had in mind leaving Belle Plain.
A little sigh escaped Betty's red lips, for she was thinking of the Purchase, which lay far down the river, many, many miles distant. The sigh was ever so little, but Carrington had heard it.
“I am to be missed, too, am I, Betty?” he inquired, leaning toward her.