“Joe says—they won't come very soon.”
“Is it far—where we're going—out of the country?”
“Ten days' hard riding.”
“Oh! That night ride to and from Stonebridge nearly killed me. But I could walk very far, and climb for ever.”
“Fay, we'll get out of the country if I have to carry you.”
When they arrived at the cabin Fay turned on the porch step and, with her face nearer a level with his, white and sweet in the moonlight, with her eyes shining and unfathomable, she was more than beautiful.
“You've never been inside my house,” she said. “Come in. I've something for you.”
“But it's late,” he remonstrated. “I suppose you've got me a cake or pie—something to eat. You women all think Joe and I have to be fed.”
“No. You'd never guess. Come in,” she said, and the rare smile on her face was something Shefford would have gone far to see.
“Well, then, for a minute.”