Nella-Rose seemed still there. She would always be part of it just as
she was now part of his life. He would try and buy the cabin--it would
be sacrilege for others to enter!
So he hurried the mare on, hoping to be at the crossing before
Nella-Rose.
The crisp autumn air was redolent of pines and the significance of
summer long past. It had a physical and spiritual power.
Then turning suddenly from the trail, Truedale saw Nella-Rose sitting on
a rock--waiting! She had on a rough, mannish-looking coat, and a coarse,
red hood covered her bright head. Nella-Rose was garbed in winter
attire. She had worn this outfit for five years and it looked it.
Never again was Truedale to see a face of such radiant joy and trust as
the girl turned upon him. Her eyes were wide and filled with a light
that startled him. He jumped from the horse and took her in his arms.
"What is it?" he asked, fearing some intangible danger.
"The minister was killed by the flood!" Nella-Rose's tones were
thrilling. "He was going through Devil-may-come Hollow and a mighty big
rock struck him and--he's dead!"
"Then you must come with me, Nella-Rose." Truedale set his lips grimly;
there was no time to lose. Between three and nine o'clock surely they
could locate a minister or a justice of the peace. "Come!"
"But why, Mister Man?" She laughed up at him.
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