“What is it?” he asked, fearing some intangible danger.

“The minister was killed by the flood!” Nella-Rose’s tones were thrilling.  “He was going through Devil-may-come Hollow and a mighty big rock struck him and—­he’s dead!”

“Then you must come with me, Nella-Rose.”  Truedale set his lips grimly; there was no time to lose.  Between three and nine o’clock surely they could locate a minister or a justice of the peace.  “Come!”

“But why, Mister Man?” She laughed up at him.  “Where?”

“It doesn’t matter.  To New York if necessary.  Jump up!” He turned to the horse, holding the girl close.

“Me go away—­in this?  Me shame you before—­them-all?”

Nella-Rose stood her ground and throwing the rough coat back displayed her shabby, shrunken dress.

“I went home—­they-all were away.  I got my warm things, but I have a white dress and a pink ribbon—­I’ll get them to-morrow.  Then—­But why must we go—­away?”

For the first time this thought caught her—­she had been whirled along too rapidly before to note it.

“I have had word that my uncle is dead.  I must go at once, my dear, and you—­you must come with me.  Would you let a little thing like a—­a dress weigh against our love, and honour?”

Above the native’s horror of being dragged from her moorings was that subtle understanding of honour that had come to Nella-Rose by devious ways from a source that held it sacred.

“Honour?” she repeated softly; “honour?  If I thought I had to go in rags to make you sure; if I thought I needed to—­I’d—­”

Truedale saw his mistake.  Realizing that if in the little time yet his he made her comprehend, he might lose more than he could hope to gain, he let her free while he took a card and pen from his pocket.  He wrote clearly and exactly his address, giving his uncle’s home as his.

“Nella-Rose,” he said calmly, “I shall be back in two or three weeks at the latest, but if at any moment you want me, send word here—­telegraph from the station—­you come first, always!  You are wiser than I, my sweet; our honour and love are our own.  Wait for me, my doney-gal and—­trust me.”

She was all joy again—­all sweetness.  He kissed her, turned, then came back.

“Where will you go, my darling?” he asked.

“Since they-all do not know”—­she was lying against his breast, her eyes heavy now with grief at the parting—­“I reckon I will go home—­to wait.”

Solemnly Truedale kissed her and turned dejectedly away.  Once again he paused and looked back.  She stood against the tree, small and shabby, but the late afternoon sun transfigured her.  In the gloomy setting of the woods, that fair, little face shone like a gleaming star and so Truedale remembered her and took her image with him on his lonely way.

Nella-Rose watched him out of sight and then she turned and did something that well might make one wonder if a wise God or a cruel demon controls our fates—­she ran away from the home path and took the trail leading far back to the cabin of old Lois Ann!