The boy obeyed. The rope was long, so Basil felt free to speak in a
lowered voice. "Seeing you--hearing you--touching you-- O my darling!
my Courtney!"
She forgot where she was, who she was, everything but love. Love! The
road danced before her. The cry of the chickadees, the twitter of the
snowbirds, the call of Bob White from the fence sounded like supernal
music in her ears. The blood tingled and dizzied her nerves. Love
again! "You care--still?" she murmured.
"Care? There's only you for me in all the world."
She caught her breath, like the swinger at the long swing's dizziest
height when it halts to begin the delirious descent. "Love!" she
murmured. "Love!"
"And I know you love me," he went on. "I've never doubted--not once.
I've tried to doubt, but I couldn't. Up before me would come those dear
eyes of yours, and--Courtney, there isn't a kiss--or a caress--hardly a
touch of the hands you and I have ever lived that I haven't felt again
and again."
"Don't!" she pleaded, her eyes swimming. "Don't, or I'll break down.
My love--my love!"
"I don't know what would have become of me," he went on, "if I hadn't
known you'd send for me--yes--in spite of your note. I expected it, for
I knew you wouldn't be able to come. The more I thought, the clearer I
saw. Not to go any further, there was the boy." He glanced round at
Winchie; the angry gray-green eyes were fixed upon him. He glanced away,
disconcerted. But he forgot Winchie when his eyes returned to her.
"Beautiful! Beautiful--little girl," he murmured, his look sweeping her
small, perfect figure to the edge of her short skirt. "I like your new
way of wearing your hair."
She blushed. "I did it to make me feel young. I've been feeling so
old--old and tired and lonely."
"Thank God, you sent for me."
"Sent for you! A hundred times a day in thought." She laughed aloud,
sparkling like the ice-cased boughs in the late afternoon sun. "A
thousand thousand times in longing--every time my heart beat."
"Oh, it is so good to be with you!" He drew in a huge draught of the
clean, cold, vital air. "Does the sun anywhere else shine on such
happiness as this? But I've been mad with happiness ever since the word
came."
"The word? What word?"
"Vaughan's letter. I knew you got him to write it."
Courtney stopped short. "I!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what you
mean."
"I got a letter from him three days ago. He asked me to take another
quarter interest in his work--said he needed the money, as he found he'd
been using more of his own in it than he could afford with justice to
his family----"
"Oh!" cried Courtney sharply.
"What is it?" asked Basil.
She was looking straight ahead. "Nothing--nothing. Go on." And she
started to walk again.
"Your cry sounded like pain."
"Did it? Go on."
"I assumed you had at last succeeded in making the chance for me to come
back. So, I telegraphed I'd accept, provided he'd let me work with him
again--and that I'd be on at once to talk things over. I took the first
train--and here I am."
"Yes, here. That's another mystery to explain."
"Nothing simpler. The station man at Wenona told me you were visiting
your father. I jumped at the chance. I can say I thought you all were
here. Anything more?"
"I saw the announcement of your engagement."
"It's broken. I couldn't marry her--couldn't have done it in any
circumstances. So, I gave her what she was losing by our not marrying.
And I'm free. You want me to stay?"
He spoke indifferently about the money he had given up, and he evidently
felt indifferent. She would have been hurt had he acted otherwise. At
the same time it was a measure of his generosity and of his love, a
sordid but certain measure. She regarded that payment as a sort of
ransom--his ransom for the right to come to her. "That was his price
for the right," thought she. "He paid it without a second
thought--would have paid any price. My price for the right to be his
may be harder. But I must pay, too--as generously as he."