Ruth reclined on the bed of sand. The calm blessedness of night embraced her; and the stars lay on her face. She lifted her lips to them, seeming to draw them down with each breath, and blow them away again, babe-like. A dreamy amazement still possessed her.
"Who'd ever ha beleft it?" she said quietly.
Then she turned her face to him and laughed.
"Ernie!" she called.
"Whose are you now?" he said fiercely in her ear.
She chuckled and gathered him to her bosom.
He sighed his content.
"That's better," he murmured. "Now, never no more of it!"
A great mate, Ruth was a still greater mother; and this living, pulsing creature in her arms was her child, her first-born cub.
In the stress and conflict of the last few years necessity had compelled her to discard the royal indolence that was her natural habit. The lioness in her, roused by conflict, had made her fierce and formidable in any battle. Six months ago she had fought Ernie—because he was weak; now she would shield him—because he was strong.