She stirred in his arms and waited, then murmured, "He pestered me."
"Explain. Did he come often?"
"Oh, no. He—I—he came one evening up to our cabin, and—I sent him off and started next day."
"But explain, dearest. How did he act? What was it?"
She was silent, but drew her husband's head down and hid her face in his neck. "There! Never mind, love. You needn't tell me if you don't wish."
"He kissed me and held me in his arms like they were iron bands—and I hated it. He said you had gone away never to come back, and that the whole mountain side knew it; and that he had a right to come and claim my promise to him. Oh, David, David, this is the last. I have kept nothing back from you now, nothing. My heart cried out for you—like I heard you call—and I went—to—to prove to them all that word was a lie. I knew nothing they said here could touch you, but I couldn't bear that the meanest hound living should dare think wrong of you. Seems like I would have done it if I had had to crawl on my knees and swim the ocean."
"My fingers tingle to grasp the throat of that young man. I fought him for you once, and if it hadn't been for a rolling stone under my foot, it would have been death for one of us. As it was, I won—with you to save me—bless you."
"But now, David—"
"Ah, but now—what? Are you happy?"