“Listen, you little girl,” put in Caleb with rough tenderness. “I like nothin’ so well, as a rule, as to let you boss me. But here’s the one time that I’m goin’ to do the bossin’. You’re tired out, an’ you’re li’ble to take cold unless you keep wrapped up an’ get a good comf’tble sleep. An’ you’re goin’ to get it. Don’t you worry ’bout me, neither. By the time I’ve been restin’ ’gainst that tree trunk five minutes I’ll be in the arms of old Morpheus. It seems a kind of measly trick to put up on Morpheus, whoever he may be. But it’s what I’m goin’ to do.”
The quiet mastery of the man permitted no argument. Indeed, Desirée for some strange reason felt herself unaccountably stirred by it.
“Now,” he went on, “one more armful of this stuff on the pile an’ then I’ll warm the mackintosh for you by the fire an’ let you go to sleep. I wish I’d wore a vest to-day.”
“Why? Oh, you’re cold! You need this—”
“No. I’d like it to roll up into a pillow for you. I’m warm, all right. An’ this fire’ll stay goin’ all night if I feed it up once or twice before mornin’.”
He picked up one of the longer boughs and swung it onto the blaze. The sweep of his arm sent the end of the branch against Desirée. She was rising from her tree-stump seat, at the moment; and the impact of the strong-swung bushy end of the bough threw her off her balance. Not in the least hurt, she nevertheless lost her footing and fell, with an exclamation of dismay, to the ground.
At her cry, Caleb turned. Realizing that he had knocked her down and fearful lest she be badly bruised by the blow, he sprang forward; and with a volley of loud self-reproach, lifted her to her feet.
The grip of his powerful arms gave Desirée a sense of utter peace and protection. That and something more. Something she could not—would not—analyze. Unresisting, she let her body rest inert in his mighty grasp the fraction of an instant longer than was perhaps really needful.
And in that atom of time the mischief was made.
Conover was staring down at her in eager solicitude; still begging her to tell him if she were hurt. She looked up, and their eyes met. Hers were sick with a love that transfigured her. And before their gaze, Conover’s heavy face went blank; then filled with a light of wonder and utter rapture that fairly frightened the girl.