Then a clear whistle sounded on the still air. She knew it was for her. How like a boy, she thought. She tried to answer it, but could not make a sound.
Finally she rose from the rocks and approached him—not the Hope he had expected, but a frightened, trembling girl.
He went to meet her, after the manner of a boy, and clasped the hands she gave him in his own, then kissed each one, and gravely led her to the summit upon which he had been standing.
"This rock is like a great throne," he said, "where we are going to wait our crown of happiness that is to come with the rising of the sun. Is it not so? See, you shall sit upon the throne and I here at your feet. How you are trembling, dear! And those heavy guns, why did you bring them?"
"To protect myself, perhaps, from one who is inclined to be over-bold," she replied, with a little nervous laugh as she settled herself comfortably on the throne-like rock.
"Hope!" he reproved. A red flush dyed the girl's face.
"And are you not the man?" she inquired.
"Tell me then," he said quietly, "who has a better right!"
She drew back into the very recess of the throne, away from his eyes, so convincingly near to hers.
"It's a long climb up this steep mountain," she remarked weariedly.