A silence fell upon us as deep, as primitive as the aged rocks about us, and ere we spoke again the Wanderer’s siren had sent its strident notes down the fiord warning us that it was time for luncheon.
“I suppose we must really go now,” sighed Betty as we rose. “Ah, little cave, little cave!” she murmured, holding her arms out to it. “You are a good little cave and you helped make one little girl very, very happy.”
“And one man, too,” said I. “We’ll never forget this cave, dear, even though the time we spent in it was trying enough.”
“No, we’ll never forget it.” Her grave, gray eyes were looking far out over the fiord. “It has become a part of our lives. It has all become a part of our lives—our new lives, Gardy, dear. We’ll not forget any of it. Oh, dearest! Maybe sometime we can come back here, and camp here, and remember all these wonderful days. You’ll never forget them, and what they’ve meant to us, will you, dear?”
“We will neither of us forget as long as we live!”
“Yes. I feel that, too. We’ll look back, and we’ll never forget any of it, not even Captain Brack.”
“Poor Brack!”
She leaned against me, as if seeking shelter from the sad thoughts of the moment.
“Yes, we’ll even remember him with gladness, Gardy. Won’t we?”
“Yes. Of course. For it was Brack who led us into the hidden country.”