“Why, so much like death. At first I started, and almost believed you were dead—you appeared so white, and your eyes were fixed upon the clouds away off in the sky. I spoke again, but you made no answer, and I was afraid to approach you. I thought perhaps you were asleep, and in a fit of somnambulism, and waited to see if you moved. By-and-by, you remember, you did, and finally saw me standing before you. What did it mean, Irene? Have you ever been thus before?”
“I suppose so, several times. At any rate, I have been spoken to about it.”
“Were you really asleep.”
“I don’t know, George, I have been filled with such distressing doubts about you, that it must have caused my singular actions. It seemed I couldn’t help it, and I was afraid I would go crazy. Perhaps I have already,” she laughed, looking up into his face.
“I am glad and yet very sorry to hear this, Irene,” said Kingman, pressing the affectionate girl to him and drawing her head down again upon his shoulder. “I am glad for it shows me unmistakably that my love is returned; and I am sorry because it shows that it may have had a sad effect upon your system. You must get over it now.”
“I hope I shall, as the cause is removed.”
“Not removed, for it strikes me that he is nearer you this moment than he has been for a number of days.”
“Then if the cause is not removed, the cure has been applied, I suppose,” smiled Irene.
“Yes, once or twice; another application cannot hurt,” added Kingman, applying his lips to the cheek of his fair companion.
“But, George, you have not told me yet the whole particulars of the battle with the Indians, and the terrible suffering you must have undergone. Let me hear it now, will you?”