"He's just half dead and starved," said Marjorie in a voice that broke with pity. "He watched all last night while we slept away like a pair o' stirks."
At the tone in her voice, Jack French turned and gave her a searching look. The quick, hot blood flamed into her cheeks, and in her eyes dawned a frank shyness as she gave him back his look.
"I don't care," she said at length; "he's fair dune oot."
But Jack only nodded his head sagely while he whispered to her, "Happy boy, happy boy! Two mines in one night!"
At which the red flamed up again and she fell to examining with greater diligence the seam of black running athwart the cave side.
In a few minutes they were mounted and away, Brown riding hard to bring the great news to the engineer's camp and recall the hunting parties; the rest to make the ranch, Marjorie in front in happy sparkling converse with Jack French, and Kalman, haggard and gloomy, bringing up the rear. A new man was being brought to birth within him, and sore were the parturition pangs. For one brief night she had been his; now back to her world, she was his no more.
It was quite two days before the shining sun and the eager air had licked up from earth the drifts of snow, and two days before Marjorie felt quite sure she was able to bear again the rigours of camp life, and two days before Aunt Janet woke up to the fact that that foreign young man was altogether too handsome to be riding from morning till night with her niece. For Jack, meanwhile, was attending with assiduous courtesy the Aunt and receiving radiant looks of gratitude from the niece. Two days of Heaven, when Kalman forgot all but that she was beside him; two days of hell when he remembered that he was but a poor foreign boy and she a great English lady. Two days and they said farewell. Marjorie was the last, turning first to French, who kissed her, saying, "Come back again, little girl," and then to Kalman, sitting on his broncho, for he hated to go lame before them all.
"Good-by, Kalman," she said, smiling bravely, while her lips quivered. "I'll no forget yon awful and," leaning slightly toward him as he took her hand, "yon happy night. Good-by for now. I'll no forget."
And Kalman, looking straight into her eyes, held her hand without a word till, withdrawing it from his hold, she turned away, leaving the smile with him and carrying with her the quivering lips.
"I shall ride a bit with you, little girl," said Jack French, who was ever quick with his eyes.
She tried to smile at him, but failed piteously. But Jack rode close to her, talking bright nothings till she could smile again.
"Oh, Jack, but you are the dear!" she said to him as they galloped together up the trail, Mr. Penny following behind. "I'll mind this to you."
But before they took the descent to the Night Hawk ravine, they heard a thunder of hoofs, and wheeling, found Kalman bearing down upon them.
"Mercy me!" cried Aunt Janet, "what's wrang wi' the lad?"
"I have come to say good-by," he shouted, his broncho tearing up the earth by Marjorie's side.
Reaching out his hands, he drew her toward him and kissed her before them all, once, again, and yet again, with Aunt Janet screaming, "Mercy sakes alive! The lad is daft! He'll do her a hurt!"
"Hoots! woman, let the bairns be," cried Marjorie's father. "He saved her for us."
But having said his farewell, Kalman rode away, waving his hand and singing at the top of his voice his Hungarian love-song, "While the flower blooms in the meadow, And fishes swim the sea, Heart of my heart, soul of my soul, I'll love and live for thee," which none but Marjorie could understand, but they all stood watching as he rode away, and listening, "With my lances at my back, My good sword at my knee, Light of my life, joy of my soul, I'll fight, I'll die for thee!"
And as the song ceased she rode away, and as she rode she smiled.
