Part 38 (2/2)
she said, ”but the mail-man finally made his trip to Bartolo and back, and said you were still there and not blown away. And he also stated that you were working night and day.”
”Not any more,” said Lee, swinging from the saddle.
”You have finished! I can read it on your face!” she cried, joyfully.
”Yes; we threw out the last clod at one o'clock this morning.”
”I needn't tell you that I'm proud and happy; you know that, Lee. Even happier than when I learned you were able to continue, at the time you supposed you were unable. Put up your horse and come in. You're half frozen.”
Bryant endeavoured to discover from her face what he wished to know, but did not succeed. So he asked:
”Have you had your mail lately?”
”Not for three days. The mail-man made one trip and then the next snow closed the road again to Kennard.”
Lee went off to stable d.i.c.k. On his return he found Louise at the door still waiting, and she helped him to remove his overcoat and scarf when they pa.s.sed in to the fire. Then they pushed a divan forward and she bade him spread out his hands before the blaze.
”It wasn't so long ago that we agreed we mustn't see each other again, and here we are together,” he stated, with a pretense of solemnity. He extended his hands to the heat and moved his fingers about to expel their numbness. ”I don't know what your father would say if he knew all the circ.u.mstances.”
”I--I don't know, either,” Louise stammered, in dismay at the thought.
”How's Imogene?” he inquired.
”Improving slowly. All she needed was to get away from that horrid cabin and horrid--well, surroundings.”
”And your father's here?”
”At one of the feed corrals, I think. He had all the cattle rounded up before the blizzard and held here and fed. A big task, with several thousand head.”
”Then we're safe,” said Lee.
Louise looked at him doubtfully. She knew not what to make of this talk and his portentous air, and felt a new apprehension rising in her mind.
”What is it? What has happened now, Lee?” she whispered.
But all at once he began to laugh. He caught her hand and holding it gazed, smiling, into her eyes. Then he drew from his pocket an envelope, which (still keeping prisoner the hand he had captured) he waved to and fro before her eyes.
”If I didn't know you well, I'd think you had lost your wits,” she cried.
”I have--wits and heart both. With joy! Wait, I'll take the letter out so that you can read it. The only blessed thing I ever knew her to do!
I bless her for it, at any rate.” He pulled the letter and the clipping from their cover and laid them in Louise's hand. ”Read, read the tidings!”
The girl's fingers began to tremble as her eyes flitted along the lines. But she read no more than the first part of the letter. She turned to him with her eyes misty, her face radiant.
”I could weep for happiness--but I'm not going to.” She made a little dab with her handkerchief at her lashes. ”Oh, Lee, to think you're free! And that now we may love each other!”
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