He turned his back to hide his emotion.
She lifted her eyes to his when he turned again, and her own were full of
tears.
"Thank you!" She said it very simply. "That makes me--very--glad! But I
cannot go with you."
"Do you mean that?" he asked her desperately.
"Yes," steadily.
"Then I shall have to stay too."
"But you can't! You must go to your mother. I won't be stayed with. And
what would she think? Mothers are--everything!" she finished. "You must go
quick and get ready. What can I do to help?"
He gave her a look which she remembered long years afterward. It seemed to
burn and sear its way into her soul. How was it that a stranger had the
power to scorch her with anguish this way? And she him?
He turned, still with that desperate, half-frantic look in his face, and
accosted two men who stood at the other end of the platform. They were not
in particular need of a horse at present; but they were always ready to
look at a bargain, and they walked speculatively down the uneven boards
of the platform with him to where his horse stood, and inspected it.
The girl watched the whole proceeding with eyes that saw not but into the
future. She put in a word about the worth of the saddle once when she saw
it was going lower than it should. Three other men gathered about before
the bargain was concluded, and the horse and its equipments sold for about
half its value.
That done, the man turned toward the girl and motioned to her to lead her
horse away to a more quiet place, and set him down to plead steadily
against her decision. But the talk and the horse-selling had taken more
time than he realized. The girl was more decided than ever in her
determination not to go with him. She spoke of the lady again. She spoke
of his mother, and mothers in general, and finished by reminding him that
God would take care of her, and of him, too.
Then they heard the whistle of the train, and saw it growing from a speck
to a large black object across the plain. To the girl the sight of this
strange machine, that seemed more like a creature rushing toward her to
snatch all beauty and hope and safety from her, sent a thrill of horror.
To the man it seemed like a dreaded fate that was tearing him asunder. He
had barely time to divest himself of his powder-horn, and a few little
things that might be helpful to the girl in her journey, before the train
was halting at the station. Then he took from his pocket the money that
had been paid him for his horse; and, selecting a five-dollar bill for
himself, he wrapped the rest in an envelope bearing his own name and
address. The envelope was one addressed by the lady at home. It had
contained some gracefully worded refusal of a request. But he did not
notice now what envelope he gave her.