But even with
that it was spiritless, aching talk, Hoopdriver felt, for the
fighting mood was over. She seemed, to him, preoccupied with the
memories of her late battle, and that appearance hurt him.
"It's the end," he whispered to himself. "It's the end."
They went into a hollow and up a gentle wooded slope, and came at
last to a high and open space overlooking a wide expanse of
country. There, by a common impulse, they stopped. She looked at
her watch--a little ostentatiously. They stared at the billows of
forest rolling away beneath them, crest beyond crest, of leafy
trees, fading at last into blue.
"The end" ran through his mind, to the exclusion of all speakable
thoughts.
"And so," she said, presently, breaking the silence, "it comes to
good-bye."
For half a minute he did not answer. Then he gathered his
resolution. "There is one thing I MUST say."
"Well?" she said, surprised and abruptly forgetting the recent
argument. "I ask no return. But--"
Then he stopped. "I won't say it. It's no good. It would be rot
from me--now. I wasn't going to say anything. Good-bye."
She looked at him with a startled expression in her eyes. "No,"
she said. "But don't forget you are going to work. Remember,
brother Chris, you are my friend. You will work. You are not a
very strong man, you know, now--you will forgive me--nor do you
know all you should. But what will you be in six years' time?"
He stared hard in front of him still, and the lines about his
weak mouth seemed to strengthen.
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