"Am I?" said Natalie, and rushed at him. With one arm he caught her around the waist and threw her back. She landed on all fours, like a cat. Then, laughing, she sprang up and came at him again, only to be hurled back once more. Lewis was laughing, too, laughing at this last romp in the name of childhood. Natalie was so strong, so stipple, that he handled her roughly without fear of hurting her. They both felt the joy of strength and battle and exulted. Four times Natalie stormed the breach, and four times was she hurled back. Then she stood, panting, and holding her sides, the blood rioting in her cheeks, and fire in her eyes. "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." She shivered. "Cold, Nat?" cried Lewis. "Here." He started to take off his thick tweed coat. 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 her and held her. Natalie did not struggle. "You can't carry me back," she gasped. "It's too far." Then suddenly from her eyes a woman looked out--a woman Lewis did not know. His arms dropped to his sides. He felt the blood pumping in his heart--his heart that had been pressed but now against the breast of this strange unknown. By one impulse they turned from each other and walked silently to the house. They were strangers, CHAPTER XLIX That evening when Natalie was driving him home Lewis told her that to-morrow was good-by. Gip, as usual, was holding Natalie's attention so that she could scarcely pay heed to what Lewis was saying. But the central fact that he and Leighton were going hung in her mind and sank in slowly, so that when they got to the homestead she could say quite evenly: "Shall we see you again?" "Of course," said Lewis, "Dad and I will come over to say good-by." "Come for supper," said Natalie. "I won't be home in the morning. Good night." Lewis walked slowly to the house, Natalie had not given him time to ask why she would not be at home in the morning. He grudged giving that morning to any foreign interest. He wondered what he could do to kill all that time alone. The next afternoon he and Leighton drove over to Aunt Jed's in state. Leighton was still held by his mood--a mood that was not morose so much as distant. Lewis himself was in no good humor. The morning had palled on him even more than he had feared. Now he felt himself chilled when he longed to be warmed. Where his spirit cried out for sunshine, his father's mood threw only shadow. How tangible and real a thing was that shadow he never realized until they reached Aunt Jed's and found that it had got there before them.