The mass of the landslide toppled right above them. She did not seem to see.
"Of course we never can be."
"But we'll be like a brother and sister and something more."
"And something more, Mary."
She clapped her hands and laughed. The laughter hurt him more than her sobbing, for as she lay wrapped in her thick furs, even the pale, cold light could not make her pallid.
The blowing hair was as warm as yellow sunshine to the heart of Pierre le Rouge, and the color of her cheeks was as dear to him as the early flowers of spring in the northland.
"I'm so happy, Pierre. I was never so happy."
And he said, with his eyes on the approaching ruin:
"It was your singing that brought me to you. Will you sing again?"
"I sang because I knew that when I sang the sound would carry farther through the wind than if I called for help. What shall I sing for you now, Pierre?"