“No, if she is dead, it’s from some cause beyond either your or her power.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Kirk, slowly. “You know she told me as she went out of the door she was ill. And to rush out to exposure, without proper protection—that would probably kill her.”
“But if she were dead, we would be so likely to have heard about it,” objected Daisy, returning to her former hopeful attitude.
“I think the same thing would apply if she were alive,” said Kirk, sadly. “She could have died in some lonely place, or have fallen into the river, and perhaps nobody would know a thing about it. I watch the papers for accidents to unidentified people, but I have never found any description at all like her.”
Although Marjorie had taken practically no part in the conversation, the strain of it all was telling upon her as well as upon the other two. She fidgeted uneasily; the growing darkness, the loneliness, the gloominess of the subject depressed her so that she feared that she too might burst out crying. Kirk noticed her nervousness, and knew that it would be best to talk of something else.
Skillfully turning the conversation to scout topics, he drew both girls’ thoughts back to happier channels. He went into details about the radio, making it seem so fascinating that they could hardly wait for their own instrument to arrive. Finally, both Marjorie and Daisy realized that they were sleepy, and that even the prospect of a hard bed did not keep them from looking forward to their night’s rest.
“You’re sure they’ll wait for us to go up that mountain tomorrow?” she asked Kirk, as she and Daisy prepared to go into the cabin.
“Positive!” replied the young man. “But we must start early in the morning!”
“We will!” said Marjorie.
“And it’s going to be a glorious day,” added Daisy, gazing in admiration at the stars.