“Nope. I went there for that, but the Injuns got him first.”
Tears swam in her eyes. She moved her hands nervelessly and put the painful, crucial question.
“Did he know—why you came?”
He inclined his head, much affected by her attitude of abject shame. She gave a smothered cry and sank her head into her hands.
“Don’t, don’t!” he implored. “He understood 238 all right, and he’s dead and gone. Forget it!”
He took the mug of hot cocoa, anxious to drop a subject which caused him as much pain as it did her. Through the frosted windows he could see the sunlit, beautiful landscape, shining with incomparable radiance. Soon the spring would come, and with it the soul-filling song of birds, breaking the long silence of the winter.
“It must be round about March,” he said. “I sure have lost count of time.”
“It’s March the third or fourth,” she replied.
He glanced round the room and was surprised to notice its tidy appearance. All the domestic utensils were clean and neatly arranged on shelves, and the window boasted a pair of curtains. He began to realize how near death he must have been—so near, indeed, but for her he would have crossed the abyss before this.
“Where did you find me?” he asked.