the
morrow. They chatted and laughed and put restraint away from them, and
all walked together to watch the sunset from a crag above the cabin.
As they returned Madam Manovska walked at Harry's side, and as she
bade him good night she said in her broken English:--

"You think not to return--no? But I say to you--in my soul I know
it--yet will you return--we no more to be here--perhaps--but you--yes.
You will return."

They stood a moment before the cabin, and the firelight streamed
through the open door and fell on Amalia's face. Harry took the
mother's hand as he parted from them, but he looked in Amalia's eyes.

In the morning he appeared with his kit strapped on his back equipped
for walking. The women protested that he should not go thus, but he
said he could not take Goldbug and leave him below. "He is yours,
Amalia. Don't beat him. He's a good horse--he saved my life--or tried
to."

"You know well it is my custom to beat animals. It is better you take
him, or I beat him severely."

"I know it. But you see, I can't take him. Ride him for me, and--don't
let him forget me. Good-by!"

He waved his hand and walked lightly away, and all stood in the
doorway watching him. At the top of a slight rise he turned again and
waved his hand, and was lost to their sight. Then Larry went back to
the shed and sat by the fire and smoked a lonely pipe, and the mother
began busily to weave at her lace in the cabin, closing the door, for
the morning air was chilly, and Amalia--for a moment she stood at the
cabin door, her hand pressed to her heart, her head bowed as if in
despair. Then she entered the cabin, caught up her silken shawl, and
went out.

Throwing the shawl over her head she ran along the trail Harry had
taken, until she was out of breath, then she paused, and looked back,
hesitating, quivering. Should she go on? Should she return?

"I will go but a little--little way. Maybe he stops a moment, if only
to--to--think a little," and she went on, hurrying, then moving more
slowly. She thought she might at least catch one more fleeting glimpse
of him as he turned the bend in the trail, but she did not. "Ah, he is
so quickly gone!" she sighed, but still walked on.

Yes, so quickly gone, but he had stopped as she thought, to think a
little, beyond the bend, there where he had waited the long night in
the snow for Larry Kildene, there where he had sat like Elijah of old,
despairing, under the juniper tree. He felt wear