He tightened his hold on her, drew her close to his breast, kissed her dark hair, then savagely threw her body sidewise and found her lips with his.
She was shaken—swept away. He was so young, so handsome, so strong, so intensely masculine. Every primitive instinct of her being went out to him. She could no more escape the passionate appeal of the male in him than can the innocent, nature-ruled females of the wilderness escape at mating time. She had no desire to escape. They were man and woman, alone under the stars and the moon, in a deep, grim cañon that scarred the heart of this wild region; and all the sounding brass and tinkling cymbals of our false and hectic civilization were far away. A man and a woman, alone and aloof as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, young, courageous, ripe for love. “Male and female created he them.” She gave him her warm, firm lips. He kissed her lips and eyes and her dusky throat, while the blood hammered in his veins as if freshets of old port wine were rushing through them.
They spoke a thousand words that night, reclining in each other’s arms on the uncompromising floor of that severe old gorge, but they only said, “I love you.” They said it in a hundred ways, lips to lips, but no way was original. Love knows no originality when it is sincere. “I love you” is all that can be said—three words, “I love you,” but they are the hinges that swing the door of life.
“And to-morrow you’re going with him to the Valley of Arcana, Charmian! Will you think of me all the time, dearest? You won’t listen if he makes love to you, will you, Charmian? I know you won’t—you’re the dearest, truest, sweetest girl on earth! Oh, why did I have to draw the long match! Why couldn’t I go with you instead of him? But as soon as you find the valley, you’ll come right back, won’t you, honey?”
“Of course”—and she smothered the words against his lips.
“I wonder, if I were to tell him that we love each other, if he wouldn’t consent to let me go instead. If Mary needs help, he, being a doctor, ought to stay with her. But then I couldn’t ask it. He wouldn’t expect me to. I know he’d give in to me—but he’d think I wasn’t a sport. We’ve always played square—the doctor and I. I hope he doesn’t love you too much, Charmian. Has he told you that he loves you? What were you saying in the cañon this afternoon?”
“He told me he loved me,” said Charmian softly.
“He did!”—belligerently. “And what—what did you say?”
“I—I promised to consider it, Andy. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And that was before you—before to-night, you know.”
“Why didn’t you tell him there was nothing doing?”