Kate and Virginia paused not, either for food or sleep, but through the darkness of the night steadily pursued their way.
To Kate, the forest—although to strange eyes a trackless wilderness—was as familiar as her own little garden. She knew the way as well in the darkness as in the light. She was, in very truth, a child of the wilderness, and from infancy she had traversed freely the brown paths of the wild woods.
The first light of the morn was lining the eastern skies with leaden and white purple rays when Kate and her companion came within sight of the little cabin that was the home of the Kanawha Queen.
A weary march it had been through the live-long night, and Virginia, her garments wet with dew, and torn in many places by the rough grasp of the brambles, that had sought to stay her progress through the thicket, presented but a sorry sight.
Her hair, too, escaped from the simple knot that usually held it in its place, streamed down over her shoulders in wild confusion. Her face was pale, save where a hectic spot burned in either cheek. Her eyes, though, shone with a determined light, for Virginia, weak woman as she was, held within her veins the stern soldier blood of her father. That blood had nerved her to face the peril that she had encountered.
“There, lady, is refuge at last,” said Kate, pointing to the humble cabin.
“A palace could not be more welcome than your cabin,” said Virginia, gratefully, and a joyous light sparkled in her eyes as she spoke.
The two advanced to the house. The door sprung open as if by magic, and on the threshold stood Harvey Winthrop.
With a cry of joy, Virginia rushed into his arms and sunk almost fainting upon his breast. She was in the arms of the man she loved; she thought only of that and of naught else.
Winthrop folded the slender form of the girl to his heart, and tenderly brushed the damp dew from her shining locks.