The sun was almost setting now, and suddenly the two became aware that night was coming on. The Indian would be returning and they must plan what to do.
Brownleigh rose and went to the door to see if the Indian were in sight. He was thinking hard and fast. Then he came back and stood before the girl.
"Dear!" he said, and the tone of his voice brought the quick colour to her cheeks; it was so wonderful, so disconcerting to be looked at and spoken to in that way. She caught her breath and wondered if it were not a dream after all. "Dear," another of those deep, searching looks, "this is a big, primitive country and we do things in a most summary way out here sometimes. You must tell me if I go too fast; but could—would you—do you think you love me enough to marry me at once—to-night?"
"Oh!" she breathed, lifting her happy eyes. "It would be beautiful to never have to leave you again—but—you hardly know me. I am not fitted, you know. You are a great, wonderful missionary, and I—I am only a foolish girl who has fallen in love with you and can't ever be happy again without you."
She buried her face in the arm of the chair and cried happy, shamed tears, and he gathered her up in his arms and comforted her, his face shining with a glorified expression.
"Dear," he said when he could speak again, "dear, don't you know that is all I want? And don't ever talk that way again about me. I am no saint, as you'll very well find out, but I'll promise to love and cherish you as long as we both shall live. Will you marry me to-night?"
There was a silence in the little room broken only by the low crackling of the dying fire.
She lifted shy glad eyes to his, and then came and laid her two hands in his.
"If you are quite sure you want me," she breathed softly.
The rapture of his face and the tenderness of his arms assured her on that point.