The King of Beaver smiled, seeing betrayed in her face the very vertigo of joy.
“You will give yourself to me now?” he winningly begged, venturing out-stretched hands. “You have felt the need as I have? Do you think the days have been easy to me? When you were on your knees I was on my knees too. Every day you came in this direction I came as far as I dared, to meet you. Are the obstacles all passed?”
“No,” said Emeline.
He was making her ask herself that most insidious question, “Why could not the other have been like this?”
“Tell me—can you say, 'I hate you,' now?”
“No,” said Emeline.
“I have grown to be a better man since you said you hated me. The miracle cannot be forced. Next time?” He spoke wistfully.
“No,” Emeline answered, holding to the bush. She kept her eyes on the ground while he talked, and glanced up when she replied. He stood with his hat off. The flakes of sun touched his head and the fair skin of his forehead.