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Updated: June 5, 2025
He had burned all his bridges and outlying outposts; he was waiting for White, and his plans were completed. He meant to confide everything to his only friend for such Jim seemed in the hazy and desolated present then he would marry Nella-Rose off-hand; there must be a minister somewhere! After that? Well, after that Truedale grasped his manuscript and fell to work like one inspired.
Conning smiled down her doubts. "Until three o'clock!" Nella-Rose pouted, "that's a right long time. But I'll just run along. Always and always I'm going to do what you say!" Already his power over her was absolute. She put her arms out with a happy, wilful gesture and Truedale held her closer. "Only until three, sweetheart."
Standing with the girl in his arms; listening to the oncoming danger which, he realized at last, might destroy him and her at any moment; bereft of every one everything that could have held them to the old ideals; Truedale saw but one course and took it. "There is no place but here no one but you and me!"
When I come back I shall try to describe it and some day you must see it. Several times lately I have imagined an existence here with one's work and enough to subsist on. No worry, no nerve-racking, and always the tremendous beauty to inspire one! Nothing seems wholly real here." Then Truedale put down his pen.
There ain't much choosin' fo' women in the hills and Burke is an owdacious fiery feller, an' he ain't ever set his mind to no woman but Nella-Rose." That night Truedale went to his old cabin. He built a fire on the hearth, drew the couch before it, and then the battle was on the fierce, relentless struggle. In it Nella-Rose escaped.
When Nella-Rose turned away from Truedale that golden autumn day, she faced winter and the shut-in terrors of the cold and loneliness. In two weeks the last vestige of autumn would be past, and the girl could not contemplate being imprisoned with Marg and her father while waiting for love to return to her. She paused on the wet, leafy path and considered.
The day was a hard one for them both, but womanlike Lynda accepted it and came to its close with less show of wear and tear than did Truedale. She was restless and nervous.
Thomas, bent but stately, was laying the table in the cheerful dining room. There were flowers in a deep green bowl, pale golden asters. Long afterward Truedale recalled everything as if it had been burned in his mind. "Is Miss Lynda in?" he asked, for they all clung to the titles of the old days. "Not yet, Mister Con. She went out in a deal of a hurry long about three o'clock.
The dimples came into play and Truedale stood watching them while many emotions flayed him; but gradually his weakness passed and he was able to assume an extremely stern though kindly manner.
"The little rowdy!" Truedale laughed. "I hope he got a walloping." "No. Mother cried a little, had the chair mended, and always said she was sorry that she had not got home on the third day." "I see. Well, Lyn, let's go home to him. I don't know what he might break, but perhaps we couldn't mend it, so we'll take no chances."
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