By that time Jim had ceased scorching his way to Truedale’s soul and was on the path to his own cabin.

“Looks like yo’ had a tussle with the storm,” he remarked.  “Any livin’ thing killed?”

“No.”

“Thank yo’!” Then, as if determined not to share any further confidence, White strode on.

For a moment Truedale stood and stared after his host in impotent rage.  Was Jim White such a lily of purity that he presumed to take that attitude?  Was the code of the hills that of the Romany gypsies?  How dare any man judge and sentence another without trial?

The effect of the narcotic still worked sluggishly, now that White’s irritating presence was removed.  Truedale shrugged his shoulders and turned to his packing.  He was feverishly eager to get to Nella-Rose.  Before nightfall she would be his before the world; in two weeks he would be back; the future would shame White and bring him to his senses.  Jim had a soft heart; he was just, in his brutal fashion.  When he understood how matters were, he would feel like the fool he was—­a fool willing to cast a man off, unheard!  But Truedale blamed himself for the hesitation that meant so much.  The telegram—­his fear of making a wrong step—­had caused the grave mistake that could not be righted now.

At two o’clock Truedale started—­on Jim’s mare!  White’s cabin had all the appearance of being barred against intrusion.  Truedale did not mean to test this, but it hurt him like a blow.  However, there was nothing to do but remedy, as soon as possible, the error he had permitted to arise.  No man on earth could make Nella-Rose more his than his love and good faith had made her, still he was eager now to resort to all the time-honoured safeguards before he left.  Once married he would go with a heart almost light.  He would confide everything to Kendall and Lynda—­at least he would his marriage—­and urge them to return with him to the hills, and after that White and all the others would have an awakening.  The possibility thus conceived was like a flood of light and sweet air in a place dark and bewildering but not evil—­no, not that!

As he turned from the clearing Truedale looked back at his cabin.  Nella-Rose seemed still there.  She would always be part of it just as she was now part of his life.  He would try and buy the cabin—­it would be sacrilege for others to enter!

So he hurried the mare on, hoping to be at the crossing before Nella-Rose.

The crisp autumn air was redolent of pines and the significance of summer long past.  It had a physical and spiritual power.

Then turning suddenly from the trail, Truedale saw Nella-Rose sitting on a rock—­waiting!  She had on a rough, mannish-looking coat, and a coarse, red hood covered her bright head.  Nella-Rose was garbed in winter attire.  She had worn this outfit for five years and it looked it.

Never again was Truedale to see a face of such radiant joy and trust as the girl turned upon him.  Her eyes were wide and filled with a light that startled him.  He jumped from the horse and took her in his arms.