“Then I’ll never look away from you.”
“Don’t look away. Those eyes! How they’ve haunted me. The shadows in them! There are no shadows now, Phil. They’re laughing at me, at my feminine weakness, convinced against itself. I thought you were a ghost.” She held him away and looked at him. “But you’re not in the least ghostlike. You’re looking very well. I don’t believe you’ve worried.”
“Nor you. I’ve never seen you looking handsomer. It’s hardly flattering to my vanity.”
She sighed.
“I’ve lived in Arcadia for three weeks.”
He led her over to the log beside the shack and sat beside her.
“Tell me,” he said at last, “how you came to be here—alone.”
She straightened quickly and peered around.
“But I’m not alone—my guide—he went into the brush for firewood.”