“Here, Barty!” she called faintly.
He found her sunk on the ground in a heap, under a tree, white and limp.
“I got lost, Barty,” she said, with a sob. “I’m—sorry!”
He caught her up in his arms and held her strained against his heart. The flash light had fallen to the ground, and he could not see her face.
“Are you hurt?” he cried. “Jacko, are you hurt?”
She flung her arms round his neck and drew down his head. He felt tears on her cheeks. He was filled with a sublime and almost intolerable tenderness for this beloved creature, clinging to him. He had no words. He could only hold her close in his arms and kiss her cold face again and again.
“Barty!” she said. “Your foot! Let me down!”
But he would not. He carried her back to the camp, and he did not stumble or falter once. White and haggard with exhaustion, he came staggering into the friendly firelight with Jacko in his arms, her face hidden on his shoulder, her dark hair hanging loose over his arm.
When he set her down, and she looked at him, she did not regret his pain, his weariness, or the fear he had felt for her. On his face there was a look that she would never forget—an exultation, a sort of splendor that stirred her beyond all measure. This was his hour, the hour that was due him, his hour of supreme effort and glorious victory.
He could not quite suppress a groan as he turned aside, for his foot throbbed horribly; but she knew that he was glad to endure it for her, that it was his right and his pride so to endure for the woman he loved. For the sake of his love she had done this for him. She had strayed away so that he might find her anew, so that they might start all over again, with the past effaced and the future all before them.[Pg 217]