The smile from his eyes went creeping down his face as the dawn-glow creeps down a mountain. Perhaps in a dream he had come upon the truth, or perhaps from the light of her soul. For he said with a faint, wan smile upon his lips:
"I don't believe it, Beth. You meant to write 'love' in your letter."
The tears sprang out of her eyes.
"I did! I did! I did!" she sobbed in joy too great to be contained. "I've always loved you, always!"
Despite his wound, his weakness—all—she thrust an arm beneath his neck and pillowed her cheek on his breast. He wanted no further explanation, and she had no words to spend.
One of his arms was remarkably efficient. It circled her promptly and drew her up till he kissed her on the lips. Then he presently said:
"How much time have we wasted?"
"Oh, days!" she said, warmly blushing. "Ever since that night on the desert."
He shook a smiling negative.
"Wrong. We've wasted all our lives."