"No, Sam—not yet—not yet! Please listen—I've been so wicked—so foolish—Please forgive me—please tell me you love me. Don't let it make any difference. I can stand everything but that. Sam, we once loved each other—can't we again? I love you—I do—I do!"
For an instant he held her from him gazing into her eyes. The revulsion was so great—the surprise so intense, he could hardly believe his senses. Then a great uplift swept through him.
"Hush," he breathed. "Tell me again that you love me. Say it again, Alice. Say it!" The vibrant trembling of her body, close held in his arms, thrilled him; he could see dimly in the shadow the same old look in her eyes—the eyes of the girl he loved. The hour of their betrothal seemed to be his once more.
"I don't want to go home, Sam; I never want to see it again," she swept on. "I want to live here. Will you rebuild Big Shanty for you and me, dearest, and for Margaret and Billy? They love each other and—"
He folded her in his arms.
"Kiss me again!" she pleaded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Half supporting her, one arm about his neck, her hands clinging to his as if she was afraid some unseen power would take him from her, the two regained the camp, the blaze of freshly heaped-up logs having lighted the way.
"Give Dinsmore something hot to drink at once," were Thayor's first words on reaching the group. "He's been in water up to his neck. Had it not been for him we should have had to lie out all night; he sees in the dark like an owl. We've had a hard tramp." He stood steaming before the fire as he spoke—drenched to the skin, the others crowding round him, too happy for the moment to ply him with questions. He himself was quivering with an inward joy. Alice's kisses were still on his lips.
The trapper edged nearer. "And what did them fellers say, Mr. Thayor, when ye found 'em?" he asked. He had asked the question before, but Thayor only waved his hand saying he would wait until they reached camp so all could hear the story.