Jean thought of the little fellow, so childish in many ways, but silent all day on the subject of his loss. He had gone to cry out his grief, unseen, on Kobuk's grave. . . . Suddenly she loved him with a tenderness she had never known before, but . . . with it came a new loneliness. It was as if already his boyish hand and shut her, a woman, from that place in his heart that only men might know and understand.
She rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands.
"Oh—o—o," she said, reflectively. "I did not know. I did not dream . . . men were like that." . . . The hearts of men . . . it was strangely sweet to know what lay hidden in the hearts of men.
The faint, disembodied cry of a seabird keened across the dusk. Formless waters stretched away into the wide, beckoning dimness. The twilight wind was pungent with the strange awakening smell of the sea. Forgotten now was the depression of the day; it had no place in the romance, the mystery, the promise of the northern night. She became suddenly conscious that there was something sublimely beautiful in life that she had never yet experienced, something that unknowingly she had been waiting for; something that must come to her at last. . . . She wondered if the young man sitting so close to her were ever stirred by such rapturous, intangible thoughts. With quickened interest she turned to look at him, and met his deep eyes intent on her face.
Somewhat confused, he snapped off the head of the daisy between them.
"I—I was just wondering what you were thinking about, Jean."
"I was thinking about you," she answered candidly. "I was wondering——"
There came the sound of little running feet on the trail near them, and the girl rose hastily, calling Loll's name.
"Don't be afraid, honey. It's I—Jean!"
Breathless but relieved at the sight of them, the boy joined them and the three went slowly down the gulch toward the cabin.