The girl had risen, too, with her mother, and was standing in the
shadow.

"Good-by Easter," said Clayton, holding out his hand.

As she turned he caught one glimpse of her face in the moonlight,
and its whiteness startled him. Her hand was cold when he took it,
and her voice was scarcely audible as she faintly repeated his
words. She lifted her face as their hands were unclasped, and her
lips quivered mutely as if trying to speak, but he had turned to go.
For a moment she watched his darkening figure, and then with
stifled breath almost staggered into the cabin.

The road wound around the cliff and back again, and as Clayton
picked his way along it he was oppressed by a strange uneasiness.
Easter's face, as he last saw it, lay in his mind like a keen reproach.
Could he have been mistaken? Had he been too hasty? He recalled
the events of the evening. He began to see that it was significant
that Raines had shown no surprise when he spoke of going home,
and yet had seemed almost startled by the suddenness of his
departure. Perhaps the mountaineer knew he was going. It was
known at the camp. If he knew, then Easter must have known.
Perhaps she had felt hurt because he had not spoken to her earlier.
What might Raines not have told her, and honestly, too? Perhaps
he was unconsciously confirming all the mountaineer might have
said. He ought to have spoken to her. Perhaps she could not speak
to him. He wheeled suddenly in the path to return to the cabin,
and stopped still.

Something was hurrying down through the undergrowth of the