He reached out his hands to them. Aunt Ursul threw herself into his arms as though she would not again let her beloved young man be separated from her; but Conrad, with gentle force, freed himself and said:
"There is not a minute to be lost. I must make a wide circuit in order to come from the other side into the valley, and you have a long journey. The dog I shall take along. She can be of no use to you on the way home. Can you find the way without her, aunt? Now then good-bye; good-bye all!"
"In the hope of again seeing you," said the minister.
Conrad's face was convulsed for a moment. "As God will," he answered, in subdued tones.
The next minute they two were alone. For a moment they heard his retreating steps. Then all was still.
"We shall not see him again," said Aunt Ursul.
"We _shall_ see him again," said the minister, looking at the purple clouds shining through the branches. "God helps the courageous."
"Then he will help him," said Aunt Ursul. "A more courageous heart than that of my young man beats in no human breast. God be gracious to him!"
They turned back on their homeward journey, back through the primitive forest, over which now the evening shadows were fast gathering.
The minister had not deceived himself when, at their departure from the block-house, he thought he read in Lambert's and Catherine's manner that they both perceived what he and Aunt Ursul contemplated, in spite of all their precautions. Indeed, while Lambert was guiding the labor of fortifying, and was himself taking an active hand in the work, his mind was constantly oppressed with heavy cares about Conrad. His heart, full of love, and needing love, could not bear the thought that his brother should be so unhappy while he was so happy--that for the first time he could not give the best part of the sunshine of life to him for whom hitherto no sacrifice had been too heavy. No, not him could he give--but he would give--not for all the world--not for his soul's salvation. Here there was no doubt--there _could be_ no doubt--for this would have been the basest treachery toward himself, and toward the dear girl who had trustfully given him her pure maiden heart. And yet--and yet--
Catherine's heart was scarcely less sad. She held Lambert so unspeakably dear, and her first experience must be that she was bringing to her beloved great suffering as her first gift. She saw, indeed, no mark of sorrow in the countenance of the precious man. She had learned too well to read those smooth and honorable lines. There was no dark cloud on that open brow, no gloomy falling of those mild, blue eyes, no sad contortion about the mouth, which otherwise so readily and often opened in friendly smiles, but which was now closed so fast.