"It's a bad business in camp during the fall rains, and they are setting in early this year. I shall know you are safely housed—and there is so much to look forward to. Home will be a pleasant place for us, won't it?"
"I thought this, also, was home to you—"
"Only so long as you are here; my home henceforth is where you are."
And, hearing those words, despite the chill air, despite the lack of warm sunshine, despite the fact that old André lay dying in his tent just beyond the camp, despite the fact that Jamie and Mrs. Macleod were to leave me alone in Lamoral, that the Doctor was going away for an indefinite time, my happiness was at the flood.
For a moment only, we stood there on the shore of the little cove, together and alone—and glad to be! We stood there, man and woman facing each other, as primeval man and woman may have stood thousands of years ago on this oldest piece of the known earth, there in the heart of the Canadian wilderness. Something primeval entered into the expression of our love for each other; our souls were naked, the one to the other; our eyes promised all, the one to the other; our lips were ready for their seal of sacrament when the time should come that we might give it each to the other without witness.
And no word was spoken, for no word was needed.
The Doctor joined us rather inopportunely and, accounting for the situation, made no end of a pother with his traps and his canoe.
Once more Jamie and I asked if we might not take one look at old André, but the Doctor put his foot down.
"Better not. Remember him as you last saw him; it will be a memory to dwell with—this would not be."
Jamie put on a brave face, but I knew he was ready for a good cry.