Garde gasped for breath in the whirlwind of his words, that swept her fairly off her feet. Her hand had been on a post, where she had been picking away little particles of bark. Adam took it. His big hand encompassed it all about. She felt his soul rush to his fingers, to meet the throbbing of her own emotions.
“Oh, Adam!” was all she could say for a moment.
“Garde!” he replied, “my Garde—my love! Why didn’t you tell me about it before?”
“You—you were the one,” she said, somewhat regaining her footing. “You were going away without even saying good-by.”
“I thought——”
“Yes, you thought such silly things,” interrupted Garde, impulsively, yet joyfully. “You thought I could like somebody else, and that is why you were going away—without even asking. And I don’t know why you ever came to see me the first time and made me name my cat Standing-Panther, if you were going to think such things as that.”
Adam laughed. It was a sudden bubbling over of his spirits. He was the bright-eyed, joyous boy again, all at once.
“Poor Henry—poor Henry!” he said, with irrepressible mirth and gladness. “But he never loved you as I love you, sweetheart! He couldn’t! I love you so that I would cut down an army to get you and run away with you here in my arms though all the demons of earth should follow!”
“Oh but, Adam—you mustn’t!” said Garde, as Rust was about to demonstrate the ardor of which he had spoken.
“What, sweetheart, not one little kiss?” he said.