Dismissing this politeness with a wave of his hand but taking no other notice, he spoke again.
"If you will tell me your name—"
"Maitland, Enid Maitland."
"Miss Maitland?"
The girl nodded.
"And where you came from, I will endeavor to find your party and see what can be done to restore you to them."
"We were camped down that cañon at a place where another brook, a large one, flows into it, several miles I should think below the place where—"
She was going to say "where you found me," but the thought of the way in which he had found her rushed over her again; and this time with his glance directly upon her, although it was as cold and dispassionate and indifferent as a man's look could well be, the recollection of the meeting to which she had been about to allude rushed over her with an accompanying wave of color which heightened her beauty as it covered her with shame.
She could not realize that beneath his mask of indifference so deliberately worn, the man was as agitated as she, not so much at the remembrance of anything that had transpired, but at the sight, the splendid picture, of the woman as she stood, there in the little cabin then. It seemed to him as if she gathered up in her own person all the radiance and light and beauty, all the purity and freshness and splendor of the morning, to shine and dazzle in his face. As she hesitated in confusion, perhaps comprehending its causes he helped out her lame and halting sentence.
"I know the cañon well," he said. "I think I know the place to which you refer; is it just about where the river makes an enormous bend upon itself?"