But, all at once, he knew what he must do. He saw himself clearly in the van of that humble army, which has no trappings of soldiery or state, but only the weapons of peace, by which, from the beginning, all men have ultimately conquered. The plough and the harrow, the spade and the pruning knife, the steady toil with hand and brain—here and now.
Step by step he saw the savages forced backward, their arrows met with muskets and the ring of steel—back to the farthest limits of the civilisation which at last should sweep them from the face of the earth. It was the dominant race beating back the opposition; the conquest of the wilderness by those fitted to rule.
Fired with purpose and ambition, he stood there until the lurid light in the south-west began to fade. Not one life, but the many—not the reaping, but the planting—he did not know it, but strong upon him had come the spirit of the pioneer.
The moon rose high in the heavens and from the zenith sent stray lines of light to touch the cross, where the figure of the Christ, wondrously moulded, was eloquent with voiceless appeal. The stars faded, as if blown out by the wind, and then there was a soft voice at his side: "Have I been asleep, dear?"
"You sweet girl," he laughed, taking her into his arms; "you've slept all night—it's nearly time for sunrise, now."
"I didn't know. You'll go to sleep now, won't you?"
"No, dearest—I'm not sleepy."
"Neither am I, so I'm going to stay with you."
In the doorway of the cabin, with their arms around each other, they sat while the darkness waned. The wind lifted her magnificent hair in long, slender strands, and now and then, when a heavy tress touched his face caressingly, Beatrice laughed and pulled it away.
"Don't!" he said.