"I have no folks, Nella-Rose. I'm lonely and poor--at least I was until I found you! The hills have given me--everything; I mean to serve them well in return. I want you for my wife, Nella-Rose; we'll make a home--somewhere--it doesn't matter; it will be a shelter for our love and--" He stopped short. Reality and conventions made a last vain appeal. "I don't want you ever again to go out of my sight. You're mine and nothing could make that different--but" (and this came quickly, desperately) "there must be a minister somewhere--let's go to him! Do not let us waste another precious day. When he makes you mine by his"--Truedale was going to say "ridiculous jargon" but he modified it to--"his authority, no one in all God's world can take you from me. Come, come _now_, sweetheart!" In another moment he would have had her in his arms, but she held him off. "I'm mighty afraid of old Jim White!" she said. Truedale laughed, but the words brought him to his senses. "Then you must go, darling, until White returns. After I have explained to him I will come for you, but first let me hold you--so! and kiss you--so! This is why--you must go, my love!" She was in his arms, her lifted face pressed to his. She shivered, but clung to him for a moment and two tears rolled down her cheeks--the first he had ever seen escape her control. He kissed them away. "Of what are you thinking, Nella-Rose?" "Thinking? I'm not thinking; I'm--happy!" "My--sweetheart!" Again Truedale pressed his lips to hers. "Us-all calls sweetheart--'doney-gal'!" "My--my doney-gal, then!" "And"--the words came muffled, for Truedale was holding her still--"and always I shall see your face, now. It came to-day like it came long ago. It will always come and make me glad." Truedale lifted her from his breast and held her at arms' length. He looked deep into her eyes, trying to pierce through her ignorance and childishness to find the elusive woman that could meet and bear its part in what lay before. Long they gazed at each other--then the light in Nella-Rose's face quivered--her mouth drooped. "I'm going now," she said, "going till Jim White comes back." "Wait--my--" But the girl had slipped from his grasp; she was gone into the misty, threatening grayness that had closed in about them while love had carried them beyond their depths. Then the rain began to fall--heavy, warning drops. The wind, too, was rising sullenly like a monster roused from its sleep and slowly gathering power to vent its rage. Into this darkening storm Nella-Rose fled unheedingly. She was not herself--not the girl of the woods, wise in mountain lore; she was bewitched and half mad with the bewildering emotions that, at one moment frightened her--the next, carried her closer to the spiritual than she had ever been. CHAPTER VII