"Yes, dear, just as soon as I can," comforted Grey. "You will trust me, will you not?"
"Ya. But I wants my mamma. Why doesn't she tum to her 'ittle boy-boy?"
"She can't come just now, but she will after a while."
"Then I wants Malin. Oh, where is Malin?" and he started suddenly up. "Me saw her go away, and she would not tum back to Donnie."
"You love her, do you not?" Grey queried.
"Ya, me love Malin. Do 'ou?"
"Yes, yes, little one, I love her, too."
"Den me love 'ou," and Donnie threw his arms about Grey's neck. "But I wants Malin, too. Oh, please take me to Malin."
"She is not far away, dearie, and is waiting for you."
Grey spoke bravely for the child's sake. There was no need to alarm the lad now. But his heart was heavy. He thought of the Indians prowling around outside. Then his mind turned to Madeline. What was her condition? he wondered, after her terrible experience in the river. Suppose she— He crushed back the thought. No, it could not be possible. He could not imagine Madeline, his Madeline, lying in that house cold in death. All his old doubts and fears were swept away like chaff before the wind. His love for her filled, his heart with an overwhelming intensity. Let her be what she might, he loved her still, and would love her to the end. She had been sinned against, cruelly and wilfully, he felt sure of that. He saw her as in days gone by; the trim lines of her form, her dark-brown hair, and large affectionate eyes, looking up so trustingly into his. His hands clinched, and his teeth ground hard together.