"It must not be, Rima," I cried.
"What, let you leave me--now you are mine--to go all that
distance, through all that wild country where you might lose
yourself and perish alone? Oh, do not think of it!"
She listened, regarding me with some slight trouble in her eyes,
but smiling a little at the same time. Her small hand moved up
my arm and caressed my cheek; then she drew my face down to hers
until our lips met. But when I looked at her eyes again, I saw
that she had not consented to my wish. "Do I not know all the
way now," she spoke, "all the mountains, rivers, forests--how
should I lose myself? And I must return quickly, not step by
step, walking--resting, resting--walking, stopping to cook and
eat, stopping to gather firewood, to make a shelter--so many
things! Oh, I shall be back in half the time; and I have so much
to do."
"What can you have to do, love?--everything can be done when we
are in the wood together."
A bright smile with a touch of mockery in it flitted over her
face as she replied: "Oh, must I tell you that there are things
you cannot do? Look, Abel," and she touched the slight garment
she wore, thinner now than at first, and dulled by long exposure
to sun and wind and rain.
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