His eyes grew wide with unspoken love, unuttered longing. He delighted in the delicious curve of her cheek, and of her arm resting on the saddle. Her poise had an inexplicable suggestion of royal courage, as though she were battling for more than her lips could utter. In her absence he had adored her. Now he forgot all that he had meant to tell her in the sensuous delight of her mere presence. But even that was not enough. He dropped the pony's reins and strode toward her. Louise paled even as he drew near, but he saw nothing but her eyes and her lips, lips that curved wistfully, provoking tenderness and love. For an instant Louise held her heart aloof.
"Let me just worship you—a little while—a little while," he whispered.
"Only a little while?" she breathed; and the soft rose glowed in her cheeks.
"Just forever," he said.
And Louise Lacharme, more beautiful than the morning, Louise, his most gracious señorita, his Madonna of the Rose, lifted her arms to him. Her lips quivered like a child's, tremulous with longing to tell him silently, as his lips found hers, all that her heart was giving and all the wealth of love it yet should give.
Gently his hands clasped her golden head. His whole being thrilled as he touched her hair, her cheeks, her lips. "Oh, Collie! Collie! Love me always," she whispered. And she drew him down to her breast and caressed his cheek, sighing and murmuring little endearments and sweet, broken words of love.
Moonstone Cañon, coldly beautiful, echoed the hoof-beats of the ponies as they walked homeward.
Louise turned in the saddle. "Collie," she said with an indescribable gesture of appeal, "you will always take care of me, won't you?"