"At least," he went on, after some hesitation, "we have each other."
This remark angered her. She thought it impertinent. The boldness of his veiled insinuation was more than she could bear. He actually contemplated the possibility of a permanent stay.
"I couldn't stand it," she cried hoarsely, her eyes filled with scalding tears. "I would rather kill my self."
He shrugged his shoulders, and that made her all the more angry.
"You don't care," she went on. "You're willing to sacrifice me because you prefer this kind of existence to the wretched life you've had."
This speech aroused him to action. All his life he had suffered from injustice. This girl, he thought, was like all the others. For a moment, he lost his sang-froid.
"You're unjust!" he replied hotly. "I'm doing all I can. Who built the signal-fire on Mount Hope? I did. Who keeps it going night and day? I do. It's no fun climbing up that steep hill collecting fresh fuel, but I do it. Even in my sleep sometimes I wake up in fright, thinking I may have neglected to throw on enough fuel, fearful that the fire will go out—my last match gone. I work myself into a cold sweat thinking of it. I can't sleep. At last I am unable to stand it any longer. I get up and rush to the hill-top, all for nothing. The signal-fire is still burning brightly. All that time you are sleeping peacefully. Does that look as if I didn't care?"
"Forgive me," she murmured between her tears. "I'm peevish and unreasonable. Forgive me. I'm so unhappy!"
He smiled sympathetically.
"Don't get discouraged," he said kindly. "As long as we're here, it's best to get along as well as we can. It's no use fretting. If help is coming it will come. You'll not mend matters by worrying."