There was no reservation in the act—no pretence of prudery. Lena’s instinct told her he was still loyal, and the firm, fervent pressure of his arms, as he received her in that sweet embrace, confirmed it.
For some time both remained silent—their hearts too happy for speech.
At length it returned to them, Lena taking the initiative.
“But tell me, Pierre, why did you stay from me, and for such a time?”
“Your question is easily answered, Lena. I have made a long journey to begin with. I have been to California, and spent some time there in searching for gold. But that is not altogether what delayed me. I was for three years a prisoner among the Arapahoes.”
“Arapahoes? What are they?”
“A tribe of Indians, who roam over the big prairie. I might have been still in their hands, but for a party of Choctaws—my mother’s people, you know—who chanced to come among the Arapahoes. They rescued me by paying a ransom, and brought me back with them to the Choctaw country, west of here, whence I have just come almost direct.”
“O, Pierre! I am so happy you are here again. And you have grown so big and so beautiful, Pierre. But you were always beautiful, Pierre. And you have been to California? I heard that. But tell me, why did you go there at all?”
“I went to find my father,” he answered, in quiet tones.
“Your father? But he—”