“This is joyful news.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, Harper.”
“Why?”
“Because she is one of the most faithful and best of women. She has a small tent to herself, for she is the idol of the camp. Come, follow me.”
Gordon pointed out Haidee’s dwelling to his friend, and then he left him; for he did not consider that he had any right to intrude himself upon their meeting.
Harper advanced cautiously to the door of the tent. Haidee was reclining on an Indian mat; her eyes were closed, but she was not sleeping. She was dreaming a day-dream, in which Harper figured.
“Haidee,” he called softly. “Haidee,” he repeated.
She started to her feet like a startled fawn. She recognised the voice. With a cry of joy she sprang forward—her arms closed around his neck; and, as her head was pillowed on his breast, she murmured—
“Your slave is thankful and happy.”
“Not slave, Haidee,” he answered, as he pushed back the beautiful hair and kissed her forehead, “but wife.”