“I love you,” he said again, and made no movement toward her.
“I am glad,” she whispered, and she did not look at him, but at the sunlit plain which lay beyond the window.
“And Rossland was on the Nome, and saw you, and sent word back to Graham,” he said, fighting to keep himself from going nearer to her.
She nodded. “Yes; and so I came to you, and failing there, I leaped into the sea, for I wanted them to think I was dead.”
“And Rossland was hurt.”
“Yes. Strangely. I heard of it in Cordova. Men like Rossland frequently come to unexpected ends.”
He went to the door which she had closed, and opened it, and stood looking toward the blue billows of the foothills with the white crests of the mountains behind them. She came, after a moment, and stood beside him.
“I understand,” she said softly, and her hand lay in a gentle touch upon his arm. “You are trying to see some way out, and you can see only one. That is to go back, face the creatures I hate, regain my freedom in the old way. And I, too, can see no other way. I came on impulse; I must return with impulse and madness burned out of me. And I am sorry. I dread it. I—would rather die.”
“And I—” he began, then caught himself and pointed to the distant hills and mountains. “The herds are there,” he said. “I am going to them. I may be gone a week or more. Will you promise me to be here when I return?”
“Yes, if that is your desire.”