“Would you have come here to Arcadia, alone, even if——”
“Yes. I would have come here—alone. I was planning it all spring. This place is redolent of you. Your spirit has haunted it for a year. I wanted to be here to share it with Kee-way-din, if I couldn’t have—yourself.”
“What would you have done if I had not been here?”
“I don’t know—waited for you, I think.”
“But it was I—who waited——”
“You didn’t wait long. What were you thinking of, there by the fire?”
“Of my dream.”
“You dreamed of me?”
“Yes. The night we came into camp I dreamed of you. I saw you poling a canoe upstream. I followed you across a portage. There was a heavy pack upon your back, but you did not mind the weight, for your step was light and your face happy. There was a shadow in your eyes, the same shadow, but your lips were smiling. Night fell and still you toiled in the moonlight, and I knew that you were coming here. There were voices, too, and you were singing with them; but I wasn’t afraid, because you seemed so joyful.”
“I was joyful.”