“Where is he, Nella-Rose?” Something seemed tightening around Truedale’s heart.

“Us-all don’t know; he left it written on his door.”

“Where is there another minister, Nella-Rose?”

“There is no other.”

“This is absurd—­of course there is another.  We must start at once and find him.”

“Listen!” The face upon Truedale’s breast was lifted.  “You hear that?”

“Yes.  What is it?” Truedale was alarmed.

“It means that the little streams are rivers; it means that the trails are full of rocks and trees; it means”—­the words sank to an awed whisper—­“it means that we must fight for what we-all want to keep.”

“Good God!  Nella-Rose, but where can I take you?”

“There is no place—­but here.”

It seemed an hour that the silence lasted while Truedale faced this new phase and came to his desperate conclusion.

Had any one suggested to him then that his decision was the decision of weakness, or immemorial evil, he would have resented the thought with bitterest scorn.  Unknowingly he was being tempted by the devil in him, and he fell; he had only himself to look to for salvation from his mistaken impulses, and his best self, unprepared, was drugged by the overpowering appeal that Nella-Rose made to his senses.

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!”

The soft tones penetrated to the troubled place where Truedale seemed to stand alone making his last, losing fight.

“Then, by heaven!” he said, “let us accept it—­you and I!”

He had crossed his Rubicon.

They ate, almost solemnly; they listened to that awful roar growing more and more distinct and menacing.  Nella-Rose was still and watchful, but Truedale had never been more cruelly alive than he was then when, with his wider knowledge, he realized the step he had taken.  Whether it were for life or death, he had blotted out effectually all that had gone to the making of the man he once was.  Whatever hope he might have had of making Lynda Kendall and Brace understand, had things gone as he once had planned, there was no hope now.  No—­he and Nella-Rose were alone and helpless in the danger-haunted hills.  He and she!

The sun made an effort to come forth later but the rush and roar of the oncoming torrent seemed to daunt it.  For an hour it struggled, then gave up.  But during that hour Truedale led Nella-Rose from the house.  Silently they made their way to a little hilltop from which they could see an open space of dull, leaden sky.  There Truedale took the girl’s hands in his and lifted his eyes while his benumbed soul sought whatever God there might be.