“A little book won’t hold it all,” she said naively.

“Meanwhile I’ll be making a place for you.  I couldn’t take you to Moultrie.”

She asked why.

“Eva, Peter’s wife,” he explained.  “In a way Peter is my boss, you see.  It would be a horrible situation.”

“I see,” said Colina.  “But if there was no help for it I could.”

“Ah, you’re too good to me!” he cried.  “But it won’t be necessary.  Peter and I have always intended to open other posts.  I’ll take the first one, and you and I will start on our own.  Think of it!  It makes me silly with happiness!”

Upon this foundation they raised a shining castle in the air.

“I must go,” said Colina finally, “or father will be equipping an armed force to take me.”

“You must go,” he agreed, but weakly.

They repeated it at intervals without any move being made.  At last she got up.

“Is this—­good-by?” she faltered.

He nodded.

They both turned pale.  They were silent.  They gazed at each other deeply and wistfully.

“Ah!  I can’t!  I can’t!” murmured Colina brokenly.  “Such a little time to be happy!”

They flew to each other’s arms.

“No—­not quite good-by!” said Ambrose shakily.  “I’ll write to you to-morrow morning—­everything I think of to-night.  I’ll send it by Tole Grampierre.  You can send an answer by him.”

“Ah, my dear love, if you forget me I shall die!”

“You doubt me still!  I tell you, you have changed everything for me.  I cannot forget you unless I lose my mind!”

CHAPTER X.

Another visitor.

Ambrose, having filled the day as best he could with small tasks, was smoking beside his fire and enviously watching his dog.  Job had no cares to keep him wakeful.  It was about eight o’clock, and still full day.

It was Ambrose’s promise to visit Simon Grampierre that had kept him inactive all day.  He did not wish to complicate the already delicate situation between Grampierre and Gaviller by an open visit to the former.  He meant to go with Tole at dawn.

Suddenly Job raised his head and growled.  In a moment Ambrose heard the sound of a horse approaching at a walk above.  Thinking of Colina, his heart leaped—­but she would never come at a walk!  An instinct of wariness bade him sit where he was.

A mounted man appeared on the bank above.  It was a breed forty-five years old perhaps, but vigorous and youthful still; good looking, well kept, with an agreeable manner; thus Ambrose’s first impressions.  The stranger rode a good horse.

“Well?” he said, looking down on Ambrose in surprise.

“Tie your horse and come down,” said Ambrose politely.  He welcomed the diversion.  This man must have come from the fort.  Perhaps he had news.