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Though the outlines of Natalie's face had something august about them, her chin was slightly "empate," a painter's expression which will serve to show the existence of sentiments the violence of which would only become manifest in after life. Her mouth, a trifle drawn in, expressed a haughty pride in keeping with her hand, her chin, her brows, and her beautiful figure.
For a moment the veil of constraint of Natalie's weaving lifted between them. "I'm a pretty bad egg, I guess. You'd better shove me off the dock and let me swim or drown." "I'd hardly like to do that, you know. You are all I have." "I'm no good at the mill." "You haven't had very much time. I've been a good many years learning the business." "I'll never be any good. Not there.
Garth on the alert at the change, which portended he knew not what explosion of passion in the savage woman's breast, ordered her from Natalie's side. She obeyed, resuming her sullen mask, but lingered near him, plainly full of some question she desired to ask. He observed for the first, a purpling bruise above her temple. Rina saw his eyes upon it, and her colour changed.
"What was that for, I should like to know," he asked indignantly "are you tired of her already that you don't take better care of her than that? Oh Natalie!" Natalie's pale cheek flushed at his injustice, but she made no answer, she only watched little Izzie in fear and trembling, and oh how glad and thankful she was when baby presently was sleeping quietly.
The sound of her voice recalled him to himself. Settling back in his saddle, he abruptly turned his horse, and went off a little way, struggling to regain his self-command. Mabyn, misunderstanding, was vastly lifted up by this word of Natalie's, and the writhing ego within hastened to repair the horrid breach Garth had made. He approached her, hidden by her horse from Garth.
And the Graham who had followed his mother up the stairs that night, to come down baffled, thwarted, miserable. He rose and threw away his cigar. He must have the thing out with Natalie. The boy's soul was more important than his body. He wanted him safe. God, how he wanted him safe! But he wanted him to be a man. Natalie's room was dark when he went in. He hesitated.
As she ran she heard her brother shout in sudden alarm and Natalie's voice raised in entreaty, but she sped on under an impulse as irresistible as panic fear. Down through the openings beneath her feet she saw, as in a nightmare, the sweeping flood, burdened with plunging ice chunks and flecked with foam.
Then he knew that all his thinking was really centered about his boy. He wanted Graham to go. But in giving him he was giving him to the chance of death. Then he must hold to his belief in eternity. He must feel that, or the thing would be unbearable. For the first time in his life he gave conscious thought to Natalie's religious belief. She believed in those things. She must.
While these few words were being exchanged among the elders, a private communication was in course of progress between the two young people under the cabin table. Natalie's smartly-slippered foot felt its way cautiously inch by inch over the carpet till it touched Launce's boot.
A fellow went to seed. Eyes on the wood fire, he talked on until at last, roused by Natalie's silence, he glanced up. She was sound asleep. Some time later, in his dressing-gown and slippers, he came and roused her. She smiled up at him like a drowsy child. "Awfully tired," she said. "Is Graham in?" "Not yet." She held up her hands, and he drew her to her feet.
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