“Donald!”
The next Instant, she was in his arms, clinging to him with an abandon of passion he had never suspected in her. It thrilled him from head to foot. Presently, he led her from the proximity of the cabin to the shelter of a large tree at the edge of the camp.
“Oh, I couldn't sleep; I couldn't even try, so I told father I was going to take a turn or two down the main 'street' of tents,” she cried, in answer to Donald's question. “And to think of meeting you! I'm so glad!”
“Are you really glad, princess?” he asked, trying to pierce the gloom and the storm to see the expression of her face. “Hasn't he told you?”
“Who told me? What?”
“Your father. This morning, he and I had a very unpleasant interview, in which he opened up all his big guns. He finally silenced me entirely. What the trouble was, and what influences he brought to bear, I can't tell you, Jean. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you. It is his object to ruin me in your sight. He has the facts, and, I fear, the proofs, that make marriage between us almost an impossibility; at any rate I'm sure your father would shoot me before he would let the event take place.”
“Oh, what is it, Donald? You frighten me!” cried the girl. “You frighten me with these indefinite hints and uncertainties. I beg of you to tell me what the trouble is. I'll stand by you through anything. Do you suppose I care whether my father will allow us to marry or not? No, no, Donald; I think for myself now, as you once said I should. Perhaps, I think too much. I—I—”
“What do you mean, dearest?” The girl had stopped, as though embarrassed.
“I mean—I know you'll be ashamed of me, I mean—couldn't we, to-night—Mr. Gates is in camp, and he will—”
“Marry us?”