CHAPTER XLVIII
Leighton and Lewis made two business trips away from the homestead, andon both occasions, as soon as affairs permitted, hurried back with equaleagerness. Leighton tried to read significance into the fact that Lewiswas not chafing at his absence from Folly, but he could not becauseLewis wrote to Folly every week, and seemed to revel in telling hereverything. Folly's answers were few and far between.
Leighton would have given much to see one of Folly's letters. Hewondered if her maid wrote them for her. He used to watch Lewis readingthem. They were invariably short--mere notes. Lewis would read each oneseveral times to make it seem like a letter. He seemed to feel that hisfather would like to see one of the letters, and one day, to keephimself from calling himself coward, he impulsively handed one over.
Leighton read the scant three pages slowly. It was as though Folly hadreached across the sea to scratch him again, for the note was wellwritten in a bold, round hand. It was short because Folly combined thewisdom of the serpent with the voice of a dove. She knew the limits ofher shibboleth of culture, and never passed them. She said only thethings she had learned to write correctly. They were few.
The few weeks at the homestead had changed Leighton. A single mood heldhim--a mood that he never threw off with a toss of his head. He seemedto have lost his philosophy of cheerfulness at the word of command.Lewis was too absorbed in his long days with Natalie to notice it, butNelton took it upon himself to open his eyes.
"Larst month," he said, "you and the governor was brothers. Now personsdon't have to ask me is he your father. It's written in his fyce. It'sthis country life as has done it. Noisy, I calls it. No rest."
Lewis felt penitent. He suggested to Leighton a day together, a trampand a picnic, but Leighton shook his head.
"I don't want to have to talk," he said bluntly.
"Dad," said Lewis, "let's go away."
Leighton started as though the words were something he had too longwaited for.
"Go away?" he repeated. How often had he said, "To go away is thesovereign cure." "Yes," he went on, "I believe you are right. I thinkit's high time--past time--for me to clear. Will you come or stay?"
"I'll come if it's London," said Lewis, smiling.
"London first, of course," said Leighton, gravely. "To-day is Tuesday.Say we start on Thursday. That gives us a day to go over and saygood-by."
"One day isn't enough," said Lewis. "Make it two."
"All right," agreed Leighton.
For that afternoon Lewis and Natalie had planned a long tramp, butbefore they had gone a mile from Aunt Jed's a purling brook in thedepths of a still wood raised before them an impassable barrier ofbeauty. By a common, unspoken consent they sat down beside the gurglingwater. They talked much and were silent much.
For the first time Lewis had something in mind which he was afraid totell to Natalie. He was not afraid for her. It was a selfish fear. Hewas afraid for himself--afraid to tell her that two short days wouldclose the door for them on childhood. He wondered that mere years hadbeen powerless to close that door. He looked on Natalie, and knew thatrenunciation would be hard.
Natalie had tossed aside her hat. She sat leaning against the crisptrunk of a silver birch. Her hands were in her lap. Her dress wascrumpled up, displaying her crossed feet and the tantalizing line of herslim ankles. Against the copper green of the tree trunk the mass of herhair was pressed, gold upon the shadow of gold. Her moist lips were halfopen. Her eyes were away, playing with memory.
"Bet you can't tell me the first thing you ever said to me," said Lewis.
"My dwess is wumpled," said Natalie, promptly, a single dimple comingand going with her sudden smile. Then she looked down and blushed. Shestraightened out her skirt, and patted it in place. They looked at eachother and laughed.
"Do you remember what came after that?" said Lewis, teasingly. "Wekissed each other."
Natalie nodded.
"Nat," said Lewis, "do you remember any kiss after that one?"
"No," said Natalie.
"Funny," said Lewis. "I don't either. Do you want me to kiss you when itcomes to saying good-by?"
Natalie turned a wide and questioning look on him.
"No," she said in a tone he had never heard from her before,
Lewis sank back upon one elbow. He had been on the point of telling herthat good-by was only two days off. Her tone stopped him. "Do youremember the night of the sunset?" he asked, instead.
Natalie nodded.
"I said I was going to sail to the biggest island. You said you were,too, and I said you couldn't because you were littlest. Do youremember?"
Natalie sank her head slowly in assent. Her lower lip trembled. Suddenlyshe laughed and sprang to her feet.
"Come on," she cried, "or we'll be late for supper. I'll beat you to thefence." She was off with a rush, but Lewis got to the fence first. Hehelped her over with mock ceremony. When they came to a wall farther onhe helped her over again. This helping Natalie over obstacles wassomething new. It gave him faint twinges of pleasure.
They came to the foot of the pasture at the back of the house and to thelast wall of all. "Come on," said Lewis, smiling and holding out hishand.
"Not this time, silly," said Natalie. "Don't you see the bars are down?"
"Yes, I see," said Lewis, springing into the open gap in the wall, "butyou're not coming through here. You're going over."
"Am I?" said Natalie, and rushed at him. With one arm he caught heraround the waist and threw her back. She landed on all fours, like acat. Then, laughing, she sprang up and came at him again, only to behurled back once more. Lewis was laughing, too, laughing at this lastromp in the name of childhood. Natalie was so strong, so stipple, thathe handled her roughly without fear of hurting her. They both felt thejoy of strength and battle and exulted. Four times Natalie stormed thebreach, and four times was she hurled back. Then she stood, panting, andholding her sides, the blood rioting in her cheeks, and fire in hereyes.
"Give up?" asked Lewis.
Natalie shook her head.
"We'll be late for supper."
"I don't care," said Natalie. "I'll never give up; only I'm cold." Sheshivered.
"Cold, Nat?" cried Lewis. "Here." He started to take off his thick tweedcoat. At the exact moment when his arms were imprisoned in the sleeves,Natalie shot by him. She held her skirts above her knees and ran.
Long was the chase before Lewis caught her. He threw his arms around herand held her. Natalie did not struggle.
"You can't carry me back," she gasped. "It's too far." Then suddenlyfrom her eyes a woman looked out--a woman Lewis did not know. His armsdropped to his sides. He felt the blood pumping in his heart--his heartthat had been pressed but now against the breast of this strangeunknown. By one impulse they turned from each other and walked silentlyto the house. They were strangers,